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Tales  from  McClure's 


RAISING  A  PETROLEUM  TORCH,  HE  WAS  ABOUT  TO 
HURL  IT   ON   THE   ROOF   OF   HER   VERANDA." 


Tales  from  McClure's 
ADVENTURE 


THE    MISTRESS    OF   THE  FOUNDRY 
By  Earl  Joslyn 

DREAMS    GO    BY   CONTRARIES 
By  George  H.  Jessop 

A   LEAP    IN    THE    DARK 
By  James  T.  McKay 

HOW    CASSIE  SAVED    THE    SPOONS 
By  Annie  Hovvells  Frechette 

A    STRANGE    STORY:    THE    LOST    YEARS 
By  Lizzie  Hver  Neff 

TWO    MODERN   PRODIGALS 
By  James  F.   McKay 


NEW  YORK 
DOUBLEDAY   &   McCLURE   CO. 

1898 


Copyright,  1897,  by 

DOUBLEDAY   &    McClURE   CO. 


CONTENTS 


1782194 


PAGE 


The  Mistress  of  the  Foundry  •  ..        i 

By   Earl  Joslyn 

Dreams  Go  by  Contraries       ,  ,  •      33 

By  George  H.   Jessop 

A  Leap  in  the  Dark       .  .  .  •65 

By  James   T.    McKay 

How  Cassie  Saved  the  Spoons  .  .      97 

By  Annie  Howells  Frechette 

A  Strange  Story:   The  Lost  Years  .  .123 

By  Lizzie  Hyer   Neff 

Two  Modern  Prodigals  .  ,  .161 

By  James  F.    McKay 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

BY 

Earl  Joslyn 


THE  MISTRESS   OF  THE   FOUNDRY 


POUR  off!" 
The  molder  waited  a  moment  by  his 
crucible  of  glowing,  molten  metal;  then  in  a 
loud,  deep  voice  he  cried  again: 

"  Pour  off  !" 

Don,  the  foreman  of  the  foundry,  turned 
with  impatience  to  three  young  fellows  who 
were  sorting  metal  chips  out  of  a  barrel  of 
foundry  sweepings,  and  who  were  all  smok- 
ing clay  pipes.  "  Pat,  Jack,  and  Mike,  when 
you  hear  a  molder  call '  pour  off,'  you  get  to 
him  lively,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  foreman's  eyes  sparkled  ominously  as 
he  watched  the  trio  hustling  over  copper 
ingots  and  piles  of  zinc,  dodging,  now  and 
3 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

then,  stacks  of  flasks.  "  Shut  the  window, 
there,  Mike;  you  '11  bu'st  your  cylinder,"  he 
roared. 

"Water!"  called  the  molder. 

"  Here,  you,  Pat,  why  don't  you  have  the 
watering-pot  always  full?  The  flask-boards 
will  burn  to  cinders  while  you  're  fetching 
it.  You  're  a  dandy! "  The  foreman  turned 
away  disgusted. 

?'he  metal  was  poured  into  the  small  holes 
prepared  for  it.  Tongues  of  beautifully  col- 
ored flame  darted  from  the  beds  of  sand, 
and  the  smoke,  full  of  ashy  flakes,  rose  in 
billows.  Bang!  There  was  an  explosion 
louder  than  usual.  The  molder  and  his 
helpers  laughed;  they  always  liked  to  hear 
a  good  round  report.  "  That  will  be  a  fine 
cylinder  ring,"  said  Don.  "Now  go  help 
the  core-boys;  they  are  crowded.  And  look 
alive,"  he  added,  glancing  sharply  at  the 
three. 

"  And  what  did  ye  hear  at  the  mission  the 
night,  Mike  McCoy?  "  asked  Luke  Reardon  of 
his  bench-mate. 

"The  mission,  Luke?  Father  Gogarty  's 
4 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

after  askin'  where  the  likes  of  you  bees," 
responded  Mike.  "  '  Luke  's  a  hard  one/  says 
Father  Gogarty.  *He  's  traveled  many  a 
mile  hanging  on  under  a  freight-car,  and 
he  's  niver  a  bit  consarned  for  his  sowl, 
that  '11  go  to  purgatory  some  day  by  way  of 
a  header,'  says  Father  Gogarty." 

"Come  off,  now,"  laughed  Luke;  "Father 
Gogarty  niver  said  that.  But  what  did  ye 
hear  at  mission,  I  ask  ye,  Mike  McCoy?" 

"  Ah,  thin,  Luke,  the  father  kept  saying, 
*  Stand  up  now.'  Be  the  time  I  was  well  up 
he  said,  *  Sit  down  now.'  It  bein'  a  new  ser- 
vice. Father  Gogarty  had  hard  work  to  kape 
us  movin'.  He  gave  us  a  dressing  down  at 
the  end.  '  You  're  in  your  sates,  aisy  and 
comfortable,'  he  says,  *  when  ye  should  be  on 
your  knees.  Kape  watch  on  me,'  says  he, 
'and  whin  I  jinnyflict  then  you  jinnyflict.' 
Them  missions  is  pious  work,  Luke." 

At  ten  minutes  of  six  the  men  were  wash- 
ing up.  "Going  to  the  union  to-night, 
Timmy?"  asked  Tom  Mahanney. 

"'Dade,  that  I  am,  Tom.  We  '11  spoil 
Mowry.  He  won't  hire  union  men  to  work 
5 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

for  him,  and  we  '11  see  that  his  pots  are 
doctored.  Did  ye  know  that  the  big  cast- 
ing that  he  sint  to  Dinver  was  brittle  as 
glass?  I  know  the  man  that  made  it. 
'  That  '11  bu'st  suddint  on  you,  Mowry,'  says 
my  fri'nd,  when  he  poured  it.  '  You  need  n't 
be  so  high  and  mighty  with  us  brotherhood 
felleys.     You  '11  come  down  a  peg,'  says  he." 

"Hist,  hist,  Timmy;  there  's  the  missis." 

A  lady  dressed  in  plain  black  stood  in  the 
smoky  foundry.  She  was  perhaps  thirty-five 
years  old,  but  she  was  still  extremely  girlish 
in  figure  and  face.  She  was  speaking  with 
Don.  "  Good  night,  Mr.  Donoghue,"  she  said 
when  she  had  finished  talking,  and  then 
stepped  lightly  along,  bowing  courteously  to 
the  men  as  she  passed  them. 

"I  does  hate  to  have  the  missis  see  me 
when  my  shirt 's  all  open  and  I  'm  as  red  as 
a  gobbler,"  said  young  Dan  Doyle. 

"Red,  are  you,  Dan?"  mocked  Luke. 
"You  're  the  greenest  Irishman  that  ever 
stood  on  ten  toes." 

"  Tin,  is  it,  Luke !  Dan  stands  on  nine  iver 
since  the  bottom  of  Paddy  O'Shea's  crucible 
6 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

fell  out  and  slopped  on  Dan's  feet,"  said 
Dennis  Slavin,  the  oldest  man  in  the  foundry. 

"The  missis  is  polite  to  us  jacks,"  said 
Dick  Flanaghan,  in  his  shrill,  squeaking 
voice.  ''That  last  hot  day,  I  was  all  of  a 
lather,  and  had  been  dusting  me  work  with 
charcoal.  The  wind  blew  it  in  me  face,  and 
I  looked  like  a  striped  devil.  Don  was  off 
to  a  picnic.  Up  comes  the  missis  smiling. 
I  wanted  to  jump  under  me  bench.  'Mr, 
Flanaghan,'  says  she, '  and  will  ye  be  having 
them  hame  balls  ready  to  go  on  the  last  ex- 
press the  night?'  'Shure,  they  're  poured 
and  cooling  there,'  says  I;  'but  you  '11  have 
to  ask  Mike  if  he  '11  be  after  tumbling  them.' 
*  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Flanaghan,'  says  she.  Any- 
body niver  called  me  '  mister '  before.  She 
did  me  proud.     She  's  the  lady  for  ye." 

"You're  long-winded,  Dick,"  broke  in  Don. 
"Don't  you  see  I  'm  waiting  to  lock  the 
door?  Dump  them  grates,  Pat.  Must  I  tell 
you  ivery  night  to  put  the  fires  out?" 

The  men  hurried  out  on  the  street,  and 
went  clumsily  homeward.  Mrs.  Sterns,  the 
"missis,"  had  gone  toward  High  Street  to 
7 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

her  house.  Half  an  hour  after  her  entrance 
she  was  seated  at  her  dainty  dinner-table. 
She  had  changed  her  foundry  dress  for  a 
delicate  tea-gown.  A  letter  bearing  an  Eng- 
lish postmark  had  been  placed  by  her  plate. 
An  immense  mastiff  lay  stretched  out  on  a 
rug  by  her  chair;  he  was  always  near  his  mis- 
tress when  she  was  at  home.  Between  the 
courses  she  read  the  letter.  ''I  am  gone 
much  longer,  Kate  dear,"  her  husband  wrote, 
"  than  I  expected  to  be.  Some  litigation  has 
arisen  about  the  patent,  and  will  keep  me 
here  several  months  longer;  but  after  we 
win  the  case— as  we  shall— I  can  quickly 
negotiate  the  sale  and  return.  The  patent 
is  more  valuable  than  I  thought,  and  will 
greatly  increase  our  wealth.  Can  you  hold 
the  men  together?  There  are  signs  of  re- 
newed labor  troubles." 

Mrs.  Sterns  laid  down  the  letter  and 
mused.  It  was  a  hard  task  that  was  set 
her.  The  molders  and  polishers,  from  Big 
Luke  to  little  Joe,  her  office-boy,  were  do- 
voted  to  her.  They  would  not  trouble  the 
"  missis."  But  Parker,  the  bookkeeper,  was 
8 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

hostile  to  her,  and  resented  her  appoint- 
ment as  treasurer  in  her  husband's  absence. 
Parker  was  an  untried  man,  the  trusty  old 
bookkeeper  having  died  a  year  before  Mr. 
Sterns's  departure  to  England.  Preston, 
too,  the  manager,  was  against  her  and 
friendly  to  Parker.  Moreover,  Parker  was 
nephew  to  the  wife  of  the  president  of  the 
corporation,  Edward  Starkey.  Starkey  was 
not  pleased  with  Sterns's  lack  of  confidence 
in  his  relative,  as  shown  by  the  latter's 
choice  of  assistant  treasurer.  Sterns  had 
signed  Starkey's  notes— to  what  extent  Mrs. 
Sterns  did  not  know.  That  way  might  lie 
ruin.  She  would  do  her  best,  she  replied  to 
her  husband's  letter,  but  she  must  know  for 
what  amount  he  was  on  Starkey's  paper. 
"I  am  confident  that  Parker  is  dishonest," 
she  continued,  "  though  I  cannot  detect  any 
fraud;  but  I  am  continually  on  the  alert,  and 
shall  unearth  it  if  any  exists." 

The  next  morning  at  nine  Mrs.  Sterns  was 

at  her  desk.     She  opened  the  morning  mail, 

and  passed  the  orders  to  Parker  for  entry, 

with  the  letters  that  must  be  answered.     She 

9 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

receipted  the  bills  that  had  been  paid,  and 
placed  the  checks  in  the  bank-book.  Look- 
ing up  just  then,  she  saw  Moore,  the  foreman 
of  the  polishing-room,  standing  by  her  and 
waiting. 

"  I  can't  get  them  air-chambers  off  to-day, 
Mrs.  Sterns,"  he  said.  "  Jim  's  out.  He  's 
sick  with  the  copper  dust.  It  busted  his 
lungs,  and  they  're  bleeding.  He  '11  be  all 
right  to-morrow.  Nobody  can  do  them  so 
good  as  Jim." 

"I  am  sorry  for  Jim,"  answered  Mrs. 
Sterns;  "but,  Moore,  we  must  send  the 
large  air-chamber  to-day.  It  goes  into  a 
great  ocean  steamer  that  sails  from  New 
York  Friday,  and  it  will  not  get  there  a  mo- 
ment too  soon." 

"  I  'm  doing  that  one,"  Moore  said. 

"  Don't  hurt  your  lungs,  Mike." 

"No;  I  look  out  for  mesilf;  I  wears  wet 
sponges,"  he  said  as  he  left  the  office. 

The  other  foremen  came  for  orders.     They 

would  not  take  them  from  Parker  if  they 

could  avoid  it,  nor  report  to  him.     Parker 

was  unpopular  with   the    men,  chiefly  on 

10 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

account  of  his   curt  way  of  speaking  to 
them. 

So  the  day  went.  Soon  after  one  o'clock 
Parker  returned  from  the  bank  with  the 
money  to  pay  off  the  men.  Mrs.  Sterns  had 
previously  signed  a  check,  which  he  had  had 
cashed.  He  threw  on  the  table  before  him 
the  heavy  bag  of  silver  and  bills,  which  he 
proceeded  to  count  and  place  in  the  pay-en- 
velopes. While  he  was  doing  this  Mrs.  Sterns 
noticed  a  peculiar  flutter  of  the  eyelids.  It 
occurred  to  her  that  she  had  been  carefully 
excluded  from  the  work  of  the  pay-roll.  She 
turned  her  chair  round  to  her  desk,  and  in- 
wardly debated  what  course  to  pursue  in 
order  to  get  this  business  into  her  own  hands 
in  a  way  that  would  arouse  no  suspicion  on 
Parker's  part.  She  knew  that  she  must  be 
wary. 

After  Parker  had  finished  paying  off  the 
men,  he  was  obliged  to  go  out  of  the  city  on 
business  for  the  company.  Being  hurried 
to  catch  the  train,  he  inadvertently  left  the 
pay-roll  book  out  of  his  desk,  which  he  care- 
fully locked  before  leaving. 
11 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Shortly  after  he  had  gone,  Don  came  in  to 
ask  her  to  have  some  files  ordered.  When 
she  had  made  a  memorandum  of  the  sizes  and 
kinds,  she  inquired: 

"How  much  are  your  wages  a  week, 
Donoghue?" 

*'  Eighteen  dollars,  ma'am,"  he  answered. 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  list  of  all  the  men's 
wages  per  day,  Don?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Will  you  keep  dark,  Donoghue?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am— glad  to." 

"I  depend  on  you,  Donoghue,"  said  Mrs. 
Sterns,  looking  keenly  at  the  foreman. 

"You  're  safe,  ma'am,"  replied  the  fore- 
man, and  respectfully  touched  his  paper  cap. 

Mrs.  Sterns  put  the  pay-roll  book  into  her 
black  satin  hand-bag,  and  as  she  was  leaving 
the  foundry  Don  placed  in  her  hand  the  daily 
wage-list.     Then  she  went  homeward. 

Kaiser  was  on  the  piazza,  looking  serious. 
It  was  the  swill-gatherers'  day,  and  he  and 
the  swill-gatherers  were  at  feud.  Kaiser 
objected  on  principle  to  any  one  that  re- 
moved so  much  as  a  feather  from  the  yard. 
12 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

He  brightened  up  as  he  saw  his  mistress 
approaching,  and  marched  majestically  down 
the  walk  to  greet  her. 

"Good  fellow,  Kaiser,"  she  said  lightly, 
as  the  dog  sprang  joyfully  up  to  her  face. 
"Have  you  been  kind  to  the  pussies  to- 
day?" 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Sterns  compared  the 
wage-lists.  Don  reported  himself  as  receiv- 
ing three  dollars  per  day.  Parker's  record 
showed  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents. 
According  to  Don's  list,  every  employee  re- 
ceived from  seventy-five  down  to  twenty 
cents  a  day  less  than  Parker's  book  showed. 
On  computation,  Mrs.  Sterns  found  that 
Parker  professed  to  pay  out  two  hundred 
dollars  weekly  more  than  Don's  list  called 
for.  She  was  astonished  and  frightened  at 
her  discovery.  Her  heart  beat  rapidly. 
That  night  she  telegraphed  the  facts  of 
the  case  to  her  husband,  and  asked  instruc- 
tions. Reply  came:  "Use  your  judgment 
for  present.     Have  written." 

The  next  morning  Parker  was  visibly  dis- 
turbed, and  remarked: 
13 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"1  cannot  find  my  pay-roll  book,  Mrs. 
Sterns." 

"Where  did  you  leave  it,  Parker?" 

"  In  my  desk,  I  thought.  I  went  away  in 
such  a  hurry  that  I  may  have  left  it  outside." 

"Can  you  not  remember,  Parker?"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Sterns. 

"  No,  I  cannot,"  was  the  answer.  "  If  I 
had  entered  on  the  ledger  the  amount  of  the 
pay-roll  I  would  not  mind  the  loss." 

"  How  much  have  you  in  the  safe?  Can- 
not you  tell  by  that,  Parker?"  Mrs.  Sterns 
was  looking  directly  at  Parker's  face  as  she 
put  the  last  question. 

"  Yes,  very  nearly." 

"How  much  have  you?"  pursued  Mrs. 
Sterns. 

"  Fifty  dollars,"  said  Parker,  after  a  pause. 

"  Thirty-six  of  that  came  in  this  morning. 
Did  you  have  fourteen  dollars  on  hand?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Parker,  "I  did." 

Mrs.  Sterns  said  no  more.     What  had  he 
done  with  the  two  hundred  dollars  overplus? 
She  had  found  that  for  six  weeks  he  had 
falsified  the  pay-roll. 
14 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

Parker  was  very  uneasy  about  the  missing" 
book.  Perhaps  he  suspected  what  had  be- 
come of  it;  at  all  events,  on  the  following 
pay-day  he  made  out  a  correct  list  of  wages. 
When  all  was  ready  Mrs.  Sterns  said: 

"I  will  pay  the  men,  Parker.  I  like  to 
know  them  by  name,  and  if  I  pay  them  I 
shall  remember  them." 

Parker  hesitated,  but  delivered  up  the  enve- 
lopes with  the  best  grace  that  he  could  muster. 

When  her  husband's  letter  came  Mrs. 
Sterns  learned  that  he  had  signed  Starkey's 
notes  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  of  which  was  due  in  thirty 
days.  "  I  have  instructed  m.y  lawyer,"  the 
letter  continued,  "to  secure  me  when  the 
first  note  falls  due,  and  to  manage  as  best  he 
can  on  the  second.  Keep  Parker  with  you 
until  the  notes  are  paid;  then  arrest  him. 
My  lawyer  understands  my  wishes,  and  will 
act  when  the  time  comes  for  action." 


The  strikes  of  that  autumn  will  always  be 
remembered  by  business  men  for  their  bitter- 
15 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

ness  and  long  continuance.  The  brother- 
hoods of  brass-  and  iron-workers  were  finally 
drawn  into  the  strife.  One  evening,  shortly 
before  five  o'clock,  Mrs.  Sterns  saw  six  sooty- 
faced  fellows  enter  the  office. 

"  We  can't  w^ork  any  more,  missis,"  said 
Luke,  who  had  been  appointed  spokesman. 

*'Why,  Luke,  what  is  the  trouble?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Sterns,  considerably  alarmed. 

"  Nothing  that  you  can  help,  missis,"  said 
Luke.  "  Fact  of  the  case  is,  the  union  has 
ordered  us  to  quit,  and  we  must  stop  work 
to-night  at  five.  We  was  ordered  out  last 
Saturday,  but  Don  said  we  must  help  you 
out  by  finishing  up  the  big  order  for  them 
bibbs,  so  we  got  leave  to  stick  by  until  now. 
I  'm  dumbed  sorry  to  serve  you  so,  specially 
when  your  man 's  gone ;  but  we  can't  help  it. 
We  '11  come  back,  ivery  lad  of  us,  as  soon  as 
the  union  lets  us." 

Dick  Flanaghan  thrust  forward  his  long, 
grimy  arm,  and  bent  down  toward  the  desk 
his  dark,  alert  face.  ''We  're  smokers, 
missis,"  he  said  excitedly,  "but  don't  you 
be  afraid;  we  '11  never  smoke  the  likes  of 
16 


DICK   FLANAGHAN   THRUST   FORWARD  HIS   LONG   GRIMY 
ARM,  AND   BENT   DOWN   TOWARD   THE   DESK 
HIS  DARK,  ALERT   FACE." 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

you  out,  though  we  will  some  as  lives  near 
ye.  If  ye  iver  nade  a  strong  arm,  there 
't  is  for  ye." 

"Shut  up,  Dick  Flanaghan,"  interrupted 
Luke.  ''Ye  was  n't  ilicted  Paddy  first  of 
this  diligation."  Then,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Sterns,  Luke  continued:  "Will  ye  kindly 
pay  us  our  wages  to-morrow?  Yis?  Ye  're 
a  lady.     Don't  ye  be  'fraid  of  nothin'." 

The  men  shuffled  awkwardly  out  of  the 
office.  Paddy  O'Shea,  who  went  last,  slammed 
the  door  violently.  A  moment  later  he  put 
his  head  in  to  say:  "  Beg  pardon,  missis;  the 
door  went  togither  aisier  nor  I  expected." 

The  workmen  went  slowly  out  of  the 
foundry  by  twos  and  threes.  Even  Dave 
Collins,  the  clown  of  the  foundry,  wore  for 
once  a  serious  countenance,  and  lingered 
until  the  last  moment.  He  went  over  to 
his  corner  near  the  core-oven,  and  said, 
"Good-by,  old  bench,  till  I  come  again." 
Then  he  reluctantly  went  his  way.  Dave 
had  often  cursed  his  place  as  being  the 
hottest  in  the  foundry,  but  now  he  regarded 
it  with  affection. 

18 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

Mrs.  Sterns  looked  down  the  street  after 
the  receding  figures  of  the  men.  It  was  two 
months  before  they  returned  to  their  work. 
In  all  that  time  not  a  foundry  fire  was  lighted 
in  the  great  city  of  Riverbank. 

Meanwhile  the  contest  between  the  work- 
men and  their  employers  increased  in  vio- 
lence, and  now  hunger  began  to  press  hard 
on  the  foundrymen's  families.  They  always 
lived  from  hand  to  mouth,  the  tobacco  and 
drink  that  the  men  consumed  costing  much 
more  than  the  food  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren ;  but  for  days  past  one  scanty  meal  was 
all  that  the  women  could  provide  from  their 
lean  larders,  and  it  seemed  impossible  to 
procure  that  little  for  any  considerable 
time  longer.  The  men  were  becoming  dis- 
heartened, as  their  employers  persisted  in 
refusing  to  accede  to  their  demands. 

Big  Luke  and  Don  met  on  the  street  one 
afternoon  while  affairs  were  at  this  pass. 
Luke  was  loud-mouthed  against  those  whom 
he  considered  the  oppressors  of  the  poor. 
"  It  is  to-night  that  we  have  a  bonfire,  Don,'' 
said  Luke.  "Will  ye  be  there?  That  old 
19 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

wharf-rat,  Mowry,  is  the  one  that  holds  out 
and  kapes  us  fellers  from  gettin'  back  to 
work.  He  ain't  starvin',  and  his  wife  's  got 
stacks  of  clothes  in  her  drawers,  that  Dan 
Doyle's  mother  saw  when  she  cl'aned  house 
there,— more  nor  she  could  wear  out  in  two 
lifetimes,— and  here  we  bees  half  naked. 
Look  at  my  ragged  pants!  See  my  shoes! 
Old  Mo^\Ty  wears  'good  ones  on  his  divil's 
hoof.  Why  don't  he  share  his  money  with 
us  working-men?  We  're  the  producers. 
His  foundry  belongs  to  us.  We  made  the 
money  that  paid  for  it.  Manufacturers 
ought  to  diwy  up  the  profits  that  the  men 
makes.  We  've  got  to  scare  them  into  it, 
Don;  that  's  what  we  've  got  to  do.  They 
grind  us  poor  men's  faces  till  our  noses  are 
worn  flat.  You  don't  think  as  I  do,  Don; 
but  it 's  God's  truth  that  I  'm  after  tellin'  to 
you." 

"  There  's  some  truth  in  what  you  're  say- 
in',  Luke,"  admitted  Don. 

''Truth?  I  '11  tell  ye  more  yet  that  's 
true,  Don.  I  have  tramped  it,  and  ye  know 
it.  Why  did  I  tramp?  Because  no  man 
20 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

under  heaven  can  stand  foundry  smoke 
long,  and  ye  know  it.  When  ye  have  yer 
big  melts  of  zinc,  I  'm  just  about  crazy  after 
breathing  the  smoke.  Poor  Bob  McEvoy  has 
been  luny  twice  from  the  effects  of  zinc,  and 
is  in  the  hospital  now.  If  I  did  n't  get  out 
into  the  fields  and  breathe  the  fresh  air,  I  'd 
be  stark  crazy  too.  Sleepin'  on  the  ground 
seems  to  take  the  pizen  out  o'  me.  The 
smoke  don't  strike  to  every  molder's  head, 
but  it  does  to  mine;  and  I  'd  ruther  have  it 
there  than  in  my  kidneys,  as  others  does. 
And  what  does  Mowry  care  for  us  poor 
divils?  I  've  worked  for  him,  and  I  knows 
him.  The  little  core-boys  asked  him  once 
for  a  raise  of  ten  cints  a  day.  They  was 
gettin'  seventy-five  cints.  Mowry  discharged 
them  on  the  spot;  and  that  same  week  he 
bought  his  great  hound  and  paid  a  thousand 
dollars  for  it.  A  thousand  dollars,  man,  for 
a  dog,  but  no  ten  cints  for  a  boy !  That  thou- 
sand dollars  would  buy  me  a  fine  little  shanty, 
and  then  I  would  marry  Bridie  Hamilton,  the 
purty  little  girl,  and  settle  down  to  be  stiddy. 
D'  ye  know  what  Howry's  new  house  cost? 
21 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Ninety  thousand  dollars  he  paid;  and  I 
have  n't  money  to  buy  a  pigsty!  He 
would  n't  put  in  a  blower  to  save  his 
polisher's  lungs,  because  it  cost  too  much." 

"Things  ain't  right,"  said  Don,  who  was 
listening  with  darkened  face. 

"They  '11  lose  some  of  their  fine  things 
the  night,  though,"  said  Luke,  angrily. 
"  Good-by.  I  have  business  on  hand.  I  'm 
going  to  engage  the  '  Water  Witch.'  The 
firemen  are  friends  of  mine." 

Luke  lurched  down  the  street  toward  the 
engine-house  on  Dover  street,  and  Don  went 
past  the  foundry. 

At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  follo\sing 
this  conversation  a  terrible  alarm  of  fire 
sounded  through  the  city  of  Riverbank. 
Springing  from  her  bed  and  throwing  on  a 
heavy  blanket-gown,  Mrs.  Sterns  raised  her 
curtain  and  looked  out.  The  whole  street 
seemed  \^Tapped  in  fire.  Mowry's  handsome 
house  opposite  was  a  blazing  mass.  From 
the  houses  on  her  left  and  right  lurid  tongues 
of  flame  shot  upward   to  the   sky.     Sup- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

posing  her  house  to  be  also  on  fire,  she  ran, 
in  her  alarm,  to  her  door.  There,  in  the 
shadows  of  the  broad  front  piazza,  she  saw 
a  figure  crouching.  Big  Luke's  voice  whis- 
pered, ''  Go  back,  missis;  we  're  watchin'  your 
house  before  and  behint.  The  '  Water  Witch ^ 
is  on  the  way,  and  will  stand  before  your 
house,  whoever  else  burns,  and  wet  down  the 
roof  and  walls.  You  've  been  good  to  us; 
we  '11  take  care  of  you." 

Mrs.  Sterns  retreated.  In  three  minutes 
more  the  "  Water  Witch  "  pulled  up  before 
her  gate.  Though  ostensibly  playing  on  the 
burning  houses,  she  perceived  that  the  sharp- 
est lookout  was  exercised  over  her  home,  and 
it  escaped  unscathed,  although  all  around 
was  a  wall  of  fire.  Never  before  in  her  ex- 
perience had  she  been  so  terrified;  yet  the 
conflagration  so  fascinated  her  that  she 
could  not  turn  her  eyes  from  the  terrible 
sights  without.  As  she  stood  at  one  of 
the  long  French  windows  of  her  drawing- 
room,  she  saw  a  throng  of  laboring-men 
rapidly  passing  down  the  street,  and  dis- 
23 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

tinguished   the   rude  words   of   their  low 
chanting: 

"Smoke  High  Street  louts! 
Burn  her  out, 
Burn  her  out!" 

She  recognized  Dick  Flanaghan  and  Paddy 
O'Shea  in  the  crowd.  Opposite  her  granite 
steps,  a  dark,  wild-faced  man  glowered  at  the 
house  a  moment;  then,  raising  a  petroleum 
torch,  he  was  about  to  hurl  it  on  the  roof  of 
her  veranda.  Dick  Flanaghan's  strong  arm 
knocked  the  torch  into  the  street.  "Let 
alone,  man,"  he  commanded;  "the  missis 
lives  there.  Cheer,  boys,  cheer!  Cheer  for 
the  missis ! "  A  yell  as  if  from  the  throats 
of  a  thousand  Tammany  tigers  went  upward. 

"  0  God,"  moaned  the  woman  standing  at 
the  windows,  "protect  me  from  the  horrors 
of  this  night!"  The  mastiff,  bolt  upright 
and  growling  low,  stood  by  her  side.  Her 
old  colored  servant  was  shaking  with  terror 
in  the  rear  of  the  room.  "It  's  de  judg- 
ment-day," she  groaned;  "  de  Lord  has  come. 
My  ole  man  alius  said  de  world  would  bust 
24 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

and  burn  up  like  stubber.     Oh,  come,  Lord 
Jesus!     Send  de  golden  chariot  fo'  me!" 

All  that  dreadful  night,  which  seemed  end- 
less to  Mrs.  Sterns,  Big  Luke  was  her  self- 
constituted  sentinel.  Several  times  she 
heard  him  saying  in  a  low,  distinct  tone, 
"Move  on,  boys;  she  's  all  right." 

At  five  o'clock  Luke  tapped  on  the  pane. 
Mrs.  Sterns  cautiously  opened  the  door. 
"The  cops  is  after  us,"  he  hoarsely  whis- 
pered. "I  '11  stay  till  daylight  if  I  can. 
Leave  your  doors  unfastened,  missis,  so  I 
can  skip  through  the  house  out  into  the 
back  yard  and  get  off." 

"Do  you  know  the  way,  Luke?" 

"  Better  nor  you  do,  missis,"  he  replied. 

Just  as  the  shadows  of  night  were  lifting, 
Mrs.  Sterns  saw  three  policemen  closing  in 
on  the  piazza.  Luke  was  watching  them. 
He  gave  a  quick  spring,  met  the  one  that 
was  coming  up  the  front  steps,  and  pushed 
him  backward.  The  man  fell  heavily  on  the 
flagstones,  and  lay  there  stunned.  The 
others  pursued  Luke  into  the  house.  Run-. 
ning  like  a  greyhound  through  the  rooms, 
25 


TALES  FROM  McCLVRE'S 

whose  doors  were  all  set  wide  open,  he  saw 
through  the  kitchen  windows  another  police- 
man waiting  for  him  at  the  rear  door.  The 
mastiff  and  Mrs.  Sterns  reached  the  kitchen, 
by  a  short  cut,  in  advance  of  the  two  men. 
Luke  stood  at  bay.  The  largest  of  the 
policemen  took  out  a  pistol.  The  huge 
animal  sprang  threateningly  between  the 
policeman  and  the  fugitive.  Mrs.  Sterns 
stepped,  terrified,  before  the  mastiff.  "  Don't 
shoot  my  dog,  sir,"  she  entreated;  "don't 
shoot  him." 

"  Call  off  your  dog,  then,  lady,"  said  the 
man,  roughly. 

That  was  enough.  The  infuriated  beast 
heard  the  man  speaking  to  his  mistress  in 
unfriendly  tones.  Before  she  could  even 
attempt  to  call  him  off  he  had  jumped,  with 
a  frightful  growl,  at  the  man's  throat.  When 
she  had  succeeded  in  pacifying  the  dog,  the 
man  lay  on  the  floor,  a  sickening  spectacle. 

"  The  other  cop  ran  out  front,"  explained 

Luke,  as  Mrs.  Sterns  looked  around  the  room. 

"  I  must  be  off,  missis.   They  will  send  twenty 

cops  here  to  take  me  " ;  and  Luke  leaped  out 

26 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

of  a  window  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  The 
wounded  man  writhed  on  the  floor,  while 
Candace  crooned  a  weird  judgment  hymn, 
whose  burden  was: 

"  Gabriel  sounds  his  mighty  trumpet." 

"Stop  singing,  Candace.  It  is  not  the 
judgment-day,"  said  Mrs.  Sterns. 

"  Laws,  missis,  I  'se  dead  sure  I  heard  him 
blow,"  replied  Candace,  in  a  tone  hoarse  with 
fear. 

"  No,  no.  Go  to  the  sideboard  and  bring 
me  some  brandy  for  this  poor  man,"  said  her 
mistress. 

While  she  was  engaged  in  caring  for  him, 
six  stalwart  policemen  came  in  at  the  back 
door.  They  tenderly  took  away  their  lacer- 
ated comrade,  first  searching  the  house  for 
Luke. 

"  He  is  the  toughest  customer  in  the  State, 
ma'am,"  remarked  the  chief  of  police.  "  He 
has  been  in  more  jails  than  I  have  ever  seen. 
He  's  hard  to  handle,  too.  I  have  seen  him 
knock  out  three  police.  Was  in  your  employ, 
do  I  understand  you  to  say?  Well,  foundry- 
27 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

men  are  a  hard  crowd.    It  has  been  a  terri- 
ble night's  work;  the  city  is  wild  with  fear." 

About  eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  after 
the  fires,  Bridie  Hamilton,  stylishly  if  not 
tastefully  dressed,  was  standing  on  a  narrow 
platform  in  the  rear  of  Riverbank's  railway- 
station.  Suddenly  a  man  emerged  from 
under  a  freight-car  that  was  standing  de- 
tached from  the  other  cars.  "Oh,  Luke," 
exclaimed  Bridie,  "I  got  word  where  ye 
were  from  Dick  Flanaghan's  brother,  that 
works  here.  Are  ye  going  away  again? 
Don't  go;  stay  here."  Tears  rolled  down 
her  face,  and  Luke  awkwardly  tried  to  com- 
fort her. 

"  I  '11  come  back,  Bridie  darlint,  shure,  soon 
as  I  darst  to;  and  don't  ye  be  cryin'.  The 
cops  will  get  me  if  I  stay  here.  Say,"  he 
continued,  as  her  distress  increased,  "I  HI 
send  ye  money  to  come  to  Fairlee,  and  we  '11 
get  married." 

"  Let  me  go  with  ye  now,  Luke/'  begged 
the  girl,  piteously.     "Father  Gogarty  will 
marry  us  to-night.    We  Ve  been  called,  and 
my  clothes  are  all  ready." 
28 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

"  Mine  ain't,"  said  Luke,  ruefully.  "  I  Ve 
got  nothin'  on  but  me  old  jumper  and  me  old 
pants,  and  it  ain't  safe  for  me  to  ride  in  a 
car  with  ye.     No,  darlint;  ye  must  wait." 

"  Oh,"  moaned  the  girl,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  '11 
never  see  ye  again,  Luke,  me  lovely  darlin.* 
Do  take  me  to  Father  Gogarty.  I  've  got 
fifty  dollars  in  me  pocket  that  I  earned 
dressmaking.  I  '11  go  in  the  car,  and  ye 
can  ride  under  it  if  you  're  afraid  to  sit  with 
me.  We  can  start  at  eleven  to-night.  Ye 
will  have  time  to  go  and  put  on  your  good 
clothes.  The  cops  won't  know  ye  if  ye  go 
in  a  hack.  Do  let  me  go  with  ye,  Luke, 
there  's  a  dear." 

'^I  've  got  a  nice  coat  and  vest  in  the 
trunk  in  me  room.  If  I  had  some  dacint 
pants  I  'd  do,  now,"  said  Luke,  half  yielding. 
"  But,  Bridget,  me  dear,  I  wanted  to  give  ye 
a  handsome  send-off.  I  wanted  jest  for  once 
to  ride  in  the  parlor-car  by  yer  side.  Ye 
have  no  idee  how  like  a  gintleman  I  look 
when  I  'm  clane.  I  took  a  Turkish  bath 
once,  when  I  went  to  the  ball  of  the  United 
Brotherhood,  and  I  came  out  white.  Old 
29 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Mowry,  with  his  club-foot,  niver  looked  half 
so  fine  as  mesilf  then;  and  ye  Ve  got  a 
purty  face,  and  we  would  be  a  stylish-look- 
ing couple.  Ye  're  as  handsome  as  a 
picter,  and  ye  're  the  object  of  me  affic- 
tions,  Bridget,  me  girl." 

"Call  me  Bridie,  Luke  dear.  Bridget  is 
so  common." 

"It  was  me  ould  mother's  name,"  said 
Luke,  apologetically. 

"  Send  that  little  feller  there  for  a  hack, 
Luke,"  pleaded  Bridie. 

Finally,after  more  entreaties,Luke  yielded, 
and  the  two  went  in  a  carriage  through  the 
dark  streets  to  Father  Gogarty's  house.  At 
half-past  ten  they  reappeared  in  the  station. 
Luke  kept  in  the  dark  corners,  and  Bridie, 
carrying  her  satchel,  entered  the  cars.  At 
eleven  the  train  pulled  out,  with  Mrs.  Bridie 
sitting  in  the  parlor-car,  and  Luke  hanging 
to  its  under  side. 

It  was  summer-time  again  in  Riverbank, 
and   the   windows   and    doors   of   Sterns's 
foundry  were  all  wide  open.    Mrs.  Sterns 
30 


d 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE  FOUNDRY 

went  in  at  the  main  entrance,  nodded  good 
morning  to  the  men,  and  went  into  the  office, 
where  sat  her  husband,  a  man  royal  in  body 
and  soul.  Hearing  the  door  open,  he  raised 
his  head.  "  Ah,  here  comes  the  little  mis- 
tress of  the  foundry,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  Take  a  seat.  The  money  is  ready  for  you 
to  pay  off  the  men.  I  suppose  that  you  will 
never  relinquish  the  pleasure  of  putting 
money  into  the  men's  hands.  No  wonder 
you  are  so  popular  with  them." 

When  she  came  to  Dick  Flanaghan's 
bench,  and  he  had  counted  his  pay,  he 
nodded  and  said,  "  All  right,  missis."  Then, 
taking  his  clay  pipe  from  his  mouth,  he  con- 
tinued, "  And  have  ye  heard  the  news  about 
Luke,  ma'am?" 

"  No,  indeed;  what  is  it?  "  eagerly  inquired 
Mrs.  Sterns. 

"Well,  Luke  he  went  down  to  Pennsylvania 
to  work  in  a  coal-mine.  His  name  was  Hugh 
Brierly  down  there.  Luke  he  thought  there 
was  going  to  be  a  strike  among  the  miners; 
and  he  niver  could  kape  out  of  a  strike  no- 
how, missis.  Luke  was  boss  in  the  riots 
31 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

there  last  spring,  and  he  carried  on  wild. 
He  would  n't  let  the  trains  move,  and  so  the 
guvnor  sent  down  the  meleeshy  to  smash  the 
miners.  Luke  and  a  gang  of  men  behind 
him  met  the  train  that  was  fetchin'  the 
sojers,  and  pitched  rocks  down  the  bank  and 
ditched  the  train.  Then  them  sojers  just 
chased  after  the  strikers,  and  shot  lots  of 
them.  Luke  got  a  ball  through  his  heart." 
"Poor  Luke!"  said  Mrs.  Sterns,  with  un- 
affected sorrow;  "poor,  misguided  Luke!" 


S2 


DREAMS  GO   BY  CONTRARIES 

BY 

George  H.  Jessop 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 


"  T  DON'T  want  to  hurry  any  one,"  remarked 
1  our  host,  shaking  the  ashes  out  of  a  well- 
blackened  meerschaum,  "  but  we  have  a  long 
day  before  us  to-morrow,  and  if  any  one 
wants  any  sleep,  this  is  the  time  to  take 
it." 

No  response  from  anyone  of  the  half-dozen 
men  lounging  in  the  snug  arm-chairs  of  that 
most  perfectly  appointed  smoking-room. 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Sir  Alan.  "Two  or 
three  hours  in  bed  are  enough  for  me  at  any 
time.  Please  pass  the  spirit-case,  Jones.  I 
wonder  you  *re  not  sleepy,  Tom  Everton. 
Tou  used  always  to  be  in  bed  by  eleven 
when  you  had  an  early  morning  in  prospect; 
35 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

but  I  suppose  matrimony  has  cured  you  of 
that,  along  with  other  failings." 

**  Tom  says  he  is  n't  going,"  some  one  re- 
marked. 

"Not  going!  Pooh!  nonsense!  I  thought 
he  M  made  up  his  mind  to  bring  down  a  hart 
royal  at  least,  or  leave  his  bones  on  Balma- 
quidder  Brae." 

Mr.  Everton  looked  decidedly  uncomfor- 
table. 

"  I— I  should  like  to  try,  of  all  things,"  he 
stammered;  "but— well— I  won't— at  least 
I  think— I — I  sha'n't  go  with  you  to-morrow 
—that  is,  if  Sir  Alan  will  excuse  me." 

"  Please  yourself  and  you  '11  please  me," 
replied  the  hospitable  baronet;  "but  if  it 
is  n't  any  secret,  I  'd  like  to  know  what 
has  made  you  change  your  mind  so  sud- 
denly." 

"  He  promised  Mrs.  Everton  he  would  n't 
go,"  broke  in  the  previous  speaker.  "  She 
dreamed  a  dream,  and,  like  Pharaoh's  chief 
baker,  she  thought  there  was  something 
in  it." 

"  Do  be  quiet,  Jones,"  interrupted  Everton, 
36 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

irritably.  "  My  wife  had  a  rather  odd  dream 
last  night,  and  she 's  a  bit  nervous,  you  know, 
and— well,  after  all,  it 's  not  much  to  give  up 
one  day's  deer-stalking,  if  any  one  's  going 
to  make  herself  miserable  over  it." 

We  all  knew  one  another  pretty  well,  this 
little  circle  of  guests  collected  by  Sir  Alan  to 
help  him  to  shoot  his  Scotch  mountain,  and 
very  free  and  outspoken  was  the  "chaff" 
that  flew  around  poor  Tom  Everton's  devoted 
head.  He  bore  it  with  great  good  humor  for 
some  time,  till  Jones  made  a  rather  uncalled- 
for  remark  involving  questions  of  free  will 
and  "petticoat  government."  Then  Tom 
flared  up. 

"  I  don't  stay  at  home  because  I  'm  afraid 
of  an3rthing,  but  simply  because  I  have 
promised.  My  wife  dreamed  that  I  went 
out  with  this  party,  and  it  grew  late  without 
any  of  us  coming  back.  Then  she  thought 
she  saw  me  lying  face  down  in  the  Balma- 
quidder,  and  she  seemed  to  know  I  was  dead. 
I  don't  remember  the  details,  but  I  know  she 
worked  herself  up  into  a  shocking  nervous 
state  about  it  till  I  promised  not  to  go.  Of 
37 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

course  it  's  all  nonsense;  I  know  that;  but 
what  can  I  do?" 

"Do  as  you  promised!"  It  was  Colonel 
Eyre's  deep  voice  that  uttered  the  words,  and 
we  all  glanced  round  at  the  speaker.  He  had 
remained  silent  during  the  badinage  occa- 
sioned by  Everton's  determination,  sitting 
with  his  tumbler  of  Scotch  whisky  and  water 
in  front  of  him,  puffing  away  silently  at  the 
short  brier-root,  whose  bowl  scarcely  cleared 
the  sweep  of  his  heavy  grizzled  mustache. 
He  was  holding  the  pipe  in  his  hand  now, 
sitting  erect,  and  speaking  with  unmistakable 
earnestness  of  manner:  "Do  as  you  prom- 
ised, and  don't  be  too  sure  it 's  all  nonsense, 
either.  I  have  known  cases  in  which  men 
have  lived  to  be  very  thankful  that  they 
yielded  to  a  presentiment." 

"  But  this  was  a  dream,  colonel,"  broke  in 
the  irrepressible  Jones. 

"  Dream  be  it,  then!  Stay  at  home,  Ever- 
ton.  As  you  say,  it  's  not  much  to  miss  a 
day's  shooting;  and  if  you  neglect  this  warn- 
ing, the  chances  are  you  may  never  live  to 
regret  it."  The  speaker  took  a  sip  from  the 
38 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

tumbler  in  front  of  him,  replaced  his  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips,  and  leaned  back  as  if  the  sub- 
ject were  at  an  end. 

But  the  colonel,  an  Indian  officer  of  many- 
years'  service,  was  popularly  supposed  to 
have  led  a  life  of  adventure,  and  to  have 
figured  in  more  than  one  story  whose  excit- 
ing incidents  could  well  bear  repetition.  As 
a  rule  he  was  a  taciturn  man,  and  it  was  by  no 
means  easy  to  "  set  him  talking,"  as  the  story- 
goes.  The  present  seemed  an  opportunity 
too  good  to  be  lost,  and  several  voices  de- 
manded the  experience  by  whose  authority 
he  had  spoken  so  decidedly. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Colonel  Eyre,  slowly;  "I 
have  seen  a  presentiment  very  remarkably 
fulfilled.  I  am  not  much  of  a  hand  at  yarn- 
ing, but,  if  you  wish,  I  have  no  objection  to 
give  you  a  leaf  out  of  my  own  book,  if  it 's 
only  that  you  may  leave  my  friend  Tom  here 
in  peace  to  follow  his  own  course,  without 
badgering  him  about  it.  Yes,  I  mean  you, 
Mr.  Jones,"  he  went  on,  impaling  that  help- 
less youngster  with  a  glance  that  sent  him 
nervously  to  the  spirit-case,  while  the  rest  of 
40 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

US  settled  ourselves  comfortably  to  listen,  and 
Sir  Alan,  with  a  **  Fire  ahead,  colonel,"  drew 
his  chair  forward  into  a  better  position. 

"  It  was  a  good  while  after  the  breaking 
of  the  monsoon  in  '68,"  began  the  colonel, 
slowly.  "  The  weather  was  cool  and  pleasant 
enough,  so  that,  on  the  face  of  it,  it  seemed 
no  great  hardship  when  I  was  ordered  to 
take  a  detachment  down  to  Sumbulpur.  I 
was  stationed  at  Raipur  at  the  time,  in  the 
Orissa  district,  and  word  came  of  some 
trouble  with  the  Zemindars  above  Sumbul- 
pur. The  only  thing  that  seemed  incon- 
venient was  the  suddenness  of  the  order. 
It  was  just  *  fall  in  and  march  out '  without 
delay  of  an  hour.  I  was  a  young  married 
man  in  those  days,  pretty  much  in  the  posi- 
tion of  my  friend  Tom  Everton,  with  a  wife 
of  two  years  and  a  bit  of  a  baby  a  few  months 
old.  It  was  n't  pleasant  to  leave  them  behind 
me  in  a  place  like  Raipur,  and  of  course  it 
was  out  of  the  question  to  start  them  at  an 
hour's  notice.  I  spoke  to  my  bearer,  Josein, 
one  of  the  best  native  servants  I  ever  saw, 
and  directed  him  to  make  arrangements  for 
41 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

an  early  march  on  the  following  morning. 
He  was  to  see  my  family  driven  quietly  over 
to  Sumbulpur  in  the  tonga.  They  were  to 
travel  by  easy  stages  under  the  charge  of  a 
careful  bilewallah.  If  there  are  any  *  griffs ' 
in  this  company,  I  may  explain  for  their 
benefit  that  a  tonga  is  a  kind  of  bullock- 
wagon,  and  a  bilewallah  is  the  driver  of  the 
same.  Well,  I  had  just  time  for  a  few  words 
of  comfort  and  farewell— Tom  will  appreciate 
all  that— before  I  rode  out  of  Raipur  at  the 
head  of  my  column.  We  camped  that  night 
in  the  jungle,  after  a  march  of  about  twenty 
miles,  and  it  was  under  canvas  that  I  was 
visited  with  the  dream  or  presentiment,  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  it,  that  gives 
such  point  as  it  may  possess  to  this  old-time 
yarn  of  mine." 

The  colonel  paused  to  refill  his  glass,  but 
every  one's  interest  was  now  awakened,  and 
no  one  broke  the  momentary  silence  that 
ensued. 

"  It  was  pretty  late  before  I  fell  asleep," 
resumed  Colonel  Eyre,  setting  down  his 
tumbler,  "and  it  was  still  dark  when  I 
42 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

awoke,  or  seemed  to  awake,  with  my  wife's 
voice  ringing  in  my  ears— a  shriek  of  agony 
that  made  me  start  up  from  my  pillow  and 
listen  breathlessly.  There  was  a  lantern 
burning  in  my  tent,— I  had  left  it  so  when 
I  lay  down,— and  by  the  glimmer  of  light  I 
saw  a  large,  dark  mass  spread  itself  between 
me  and  the  canvas  roof  and  gradually  settle 
down  on  my  head.  I  did  not  know  what  it 
was,— it  was  vague  and  formless  in  outline, 
—but  I  had  a  consciousness  that  it  was 
something  of  a  dangerous  nature,— some- 
thing that  threatened  my  life,— and  I  strug- 
gled to  throw  myself  to  one  side  or  the  other. 
In  vain:  I  could  not  move  hand  or  foot.  I 
lay  as  if  chained  to  the  bed,  and  still  the 
dark  mass  descended,  shutting  out  light  and 
air,  and  seeming  to  suffocate  me." 

*' Nightmare!"  remarked  Sir  Alan. 

"Very  possibly,"  returned  the  colonel. 
"  Suddenly,  just  as  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost 
and  sank  back  on  the  pillow  exhausted,  I 
heard  my  wife's  voice  again,  this  time  clear 
and  articulate.  '  Save  yourself,  Gerald,'  it 
cried.  *  Make  one  more  effort  for  my  sake.' 
43 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

I  glanced  up  at  the  threatening  outline, 
nerving  myself  for  a  final  struggle.  It  was 
no  longer  formless;  its  approach  had  ceased 
to  be  slow.  Swift  as  the  swoop  of  a  falcon 
it  descended  upon  me— the  immense  body  of 
a  tiger  on  the  spring,  its  cruel  jaws  agape,  its 
enormous  paws  with  every  claw  unsheathed, 
and  its  hot,  fetid  breath  on  my  very  brow! " 

"  A  decidedly  uncomfortable  dream,"  ob- 
served Jones. 

"  Of  course  all  this  passed  in  one  tenth  of 
the  time  I  take  to  tell  it.  I  rolled  out  from 
under  the  hungry  jaws,  and  just  as  I  reached 
the  ground  I  heard  the  angry  growl  of  the 
baffled  monster,  followed  by  a  shattering 
roar  loud  enough  to  waken  the  Seven  Sleep- 
ers. As  my  senses  came  back  tt  me  I  found 
myself  lying  half  on  the  ground,  half  on  my 
low  camp-bed,  my  body  bathed  in  perspira- 
tion, and  trembling  in  every  limb.  Just  then 
my  batman  put  his  head  inside  the  tent-flap 
and  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  the  roar,  adding 
that  there  was  a  tiger  in  the  camp.  I  pulled 
on  my  clothes,  and  I  could  hear  the  men  walk- 
ing about  among  the  tents,  searching  and 
44 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

whispering;  but  no  trace  of  a  tiger  could  we 
discover." 

*'  Then  it  was  a  real  tiger?  "  inquired  Tom. 

*'  It  would  seem  so,  as  the  whole  camp  had 
heard  the  roar  as  well  as  myself.  However, 
it  was  almost  morning  by  this  time,  and  as 
every  one  was  afoot,  and  moments  were 
precious,  I  gave  orders  to  push  on  at  once. 
A  hurried  chota  hazree  was  quickly  prepared 
and  despatched,  and  by  the  time  the  sun 
rose  we  were  fairly  on  our  way,  with  a  good 
prospect  of  reaching  Sumbulpur  before  night- 
fall. I  could  n't  shake  off  the  impression  of 
the  dream,  however,  try  as  I  would.  Besides, 
some  natives  who  had  come  in  before  we 
broke  camp  told  us  of  a  man-eater  which 
had  been  infesting  the  district.  A  tiger 
that  has  once  tasted  human  flesh,  as  you 
may  have  heard,  is  never  content  ^^^th  beef 
or  venison  afterward,  and  they  sometimes 
make  themselves  the  terror  of  a  whole 
country-side  before  they  are  shot.  What 
with  the  vague  misgivings  suggested  by  my 
dream,  and  the  tangible  danger  of  the  man- 
eater,  I  found  myself  growing  more  and  more 
46 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

uneasy  with  every  mile  we  marched.  Finally 
I  determined  to  turn  back  and  meet  my  wife. 
I  was  well  mounted,  and  I  believed  I  could 
gallop  to  the  rear,  assure  myself  that  all  was 
well  with  her,  and  pick  up  my  command  again 
before  it  reached  Sumbulpur.  I  left  the  de- 
tachment in  charge  of  a  sergeant,— poor  old 
Busbee,  he  died  of  jungle-fever  that  same 
year,— and  rode  back  as  fast  as  King  Tom, 
a  very  speedy  chestnut,  could  lay  leg  to 
ground.  I  passed  the  spot  where  we  had 
spent  the  night,  and  kept  on  several  miles 
beyond  without  seeing  anything  to  cause  un- 
easiness. My  fears  were  beginning  to  dis- 
perse, and  common  sense  made  itself  heard. 
I  realized  that  I  might  find  it  very  difficult 
to  give  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  my  ab- 
sence if  the  men  reached  Sumbulpur  with- 
out me — they  do  not  pay  much  attention  to 
dreams  at  headquarters.  This  view  of  the 
case  became  more  impressive  with  each  mile 
I  rode,  and  I  determined  that  if  the  next  turn 
in  the  path  did  not  bring  my  family  into  view, 
or  show  me  some  other  good  reason  for  push- 
ing on,  I  would  turn  back  and  rejoin  my  com- 
47 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

mand.  Thus  resolved,  I  cantered  forward, 
swung  round  the  tangled  angle  of  brush  that 
limited  my  view,  and  saw—" 


Here  the  colonel  stopped  for  another  sip 
of  whisky  and  water. 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

"What  did  you  see?"  cried  Sir  Alan. 
"Your  wife?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  saw  her.  She  was  sitting  with 
the  baby  in  her  lap  in  the  tonga— pale— I 
have  never  seen  such  an  expression  of 
strained  terror  on  any  human  countenance. 
The  bilewallah  was  in  front,  trying  to  keep 
the  bullocks,  which  seemed  almost  frantic 
with  fear,  to  the  path.  I  knew  the  man 
well,— one  of  the  best  hands  with  a  team  at 
the  station, — but  just  then  his  face  was  so 
distorted  with  fright  that  I  hardly  recognized 
him.  You  know  that  lilac-grayish  tinge  a 
native's  face  gets  when  he  is  scared  almost 
to  death—" 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  broke  in  Sir  Alan.  "  But 
what  was  the  matter— what  was  frightening 
them?    Could  you  see  anything?" 

"Indeed  I  could,"  replied  the  colonel. 
"Cause  enough  they  had.  Not  five  yards 
behind  them  trotted  the  largest  tiger  it  has 
ever  been  my  fortune  to  see." 

Various  exclamations  testified  to  the  com- 
pleteness of  the  surprise  to  which  Colonel 
Eyre  had  treated  his  audience. 
49 


TALES  FROM  MeCLURE'S 

"Was  it  a  man-eater?"  I  asked. 

"  At  first  I  supposed  it  was,  but  if  it  had 
been  I  never  should  have  seen  them  alive. 
After  I  shot  the  beast—" 

"Oh,  you  did  shoot  him?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  how!    I  am  counted  a  fair 


shot— I  was  far  better  then;  but  when  I 
leveled  my  rifle  at  that  brute's  heart,  when 
I  realized  how  much  hung  on  the  result,— for 
if  I  had  missed,  or  if  I  had  merely  wounded 
him,  he  would  have  been  in  the  tonga  at  a 
single  spring,  and  nothing  under  heaven 
50 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

itself  could  have  saved  those  dearest  to  me 
from  a  horrible  death,— when  I  realized  all 
this,  I  don't  know  how  I  found  the  nerve  to 
pull  the  trigger.  I  suppose  I  knew  it  was  the 
only  chance.  My  appearance  had  enraged 
the  animal,  and  he  was  just  preparing  to 
spring.  This  I  do  know,  and  I  'm  not 
ashamed  to  own  it:  when  I  saw  that  I  had 
laid  the  tiger  out  with  a  single  shot— a 
thing  that  does  n't  happen  twice  in  a  life- 
time—I fell  flat  beside  the  tonga  in  the  act 
of  helping  my  wife  down;  for  the  first  and 
last  time  in  my  life  I  fainted. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  pretty  hard  trial  on  the 
nerves,"  resumed  the  colonel,  as  our  discus- 
sion of  the  situation  sank  into  silence,  "  but 
nothing  to  what  my  wife  had  gone  through. 
That  tiger  had  followed  them  for  more  than 
four  miles  through  the  jungle.  The  bile- 
wallah,  with  rare  presence  of  mind,  had 
managed  to  keep  the  bullocks  to  their 
steady  jog-trot;  any  increase  of  pace  or  ap- 
pearance of  flight  would  have  provoked  a 
spring.  She,  poor  woman,  had  succeeded  in 
hushing  her  baby,  for  had  the  child  cried 
51 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

nothing  is  surer  than  that  the  sound  would 
have  led  to  an  attack.  It  must  have  been  an 
awful  four  miles  for  her.  It  was  years  be- 
fore she  recovered  from  the  effect." 

"  And  why  did  not  the  tiger  attack  them?  " 
inquired  Jones.     "Does  any  one  know?" 

"  The  animal  was  doubtless  waiting  to  kill 
them  till  they  got  into  the  vicinity  of  water," 
explained  Colonel  Eyre.  "Tigers  often  do 
that  with  cattle  and  other  large  quarry. 
There  was  water  a  mile  or  less  farther  on. 
I  had  noticed  it  myself  in  passing.  If  I  had 
not  come  upon  the  ground,  another  ten 
minutes  would  have  sealed  their  fate." 

"  So  it  may  fairly  be  said  that  your  dream 
was  the  means  of  saving  their  lives,"  observed 
Tom  Everton,  who,  although  the  most  silent, 
had  not  been  the  least  attentive  of  the 
listeners. 

"I  think  we  may  fairly  admit  so  much," 
replied  Colonel  Eyre.  "  If  it  had  not  been 
for  my  dream  I  do  not  think  the  report  of 
the  man-eater  would  have  brought  me  back. 
On  the  other  hand,  but  for  hearing  about  the 
man-eater  and  actually  being  awakened  by 
52 


DREAMS   GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

the  roar  of  a  tiger,  I  am  not  sure  that  the 
dream  would  have  had  weight  enough  with 
me  to  induce  me  to  leave  a  detachment  on 
the  march— a  serious  thing,  gentlemen,  as 
some  of  you  who  are  soldiers  know  well 
enough." 

"It  's  a  very  curious  circumstance,  cer- 
tainly," observed  Sir  Alan;  and  then  there 
was  a  pause. 

"But  see  here,  colonel,"  Tom  broke  in 
again,  "  the  dream,  if  a  warning  at  all,  was 
a  warning  of  danger  to  you  yourself;  and 
though  you  certainly  heard  Mrs.  Eyre's  voice 
calling  to  you,  yet  it  was  urging  you  to  save 
yourself,  and  not  summoning  you  to  her  as- 
sistance." 

"  That  is  very  true,  and  it  puzzled  me  at 
the  time.  But,  as  I  argued,  it  is  wonderful 
enough  to  get  a  warning  of  danger  in  the 
future  at  all ;  you  must  not  expect  to  have  it 
spelled  out  to  you  in  large  print.  Now  as 
to  this  dream  of  Mrs.  Everton's— it  prefigures 
danger  to  you,  as  I  understand?" 

"  You  must  go  to  Mrs.  Everton  herself  for 
the  details.  All  that  I  remember  is  that  she 
53 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

saw  me  lying  drowned  in  the  Balmaquidder, 
and  read  the  vision  as  a  warning  that  some 
accident  would  befall  me  if  I  joined  the 
shooting-party  to-morrow.  But,  by  the  light 
of  your  experience,  it  would  seem  the  danger 
is  to  her,  not  to  me." 


"I'm  not  quite  so  sure  of  that," returned 
the  colonel,  thoughtfully. 

''Well,  I  think  there  can  be  no  question 
that  your  dream  saved  your  wife's  life,"  ob- 
54 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

served  Jones,  upon  whose  skepticism  the  colo- 
nel's  narrative  had  made  some  impression. 

"  No  question  at  all,"  rejoined  that  officer, 
rising;  "and  therefore,  young  man,  pay  at- 
tention to  dreams,  whether  they  be  your  own 
or  those  of  your  better  half,  which  should 
be,  afortioriy  better  and  more  reliable  than 
your  own.  Good  night,  gentlemen.  It  's 
past  one  o'clock,  and  we  have  an  early  start 
before  us." 

In  ten  minutes  more  silence  and  darkness 
reigned  in  the  smoking-room  of  Balmaquid- 
der  Lodge. 

Next  morning  the  men  of  the  party  were 
up  and  stirring  betimes.  As  I  left  my  bed- 
room, candle  in  hand,  I  heard  voices  proceed- 
ing from  the  apartment  occupied  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Everton.  "  Ah  ha,"  thought  I ;  "  Tom's 
curtain  lecture  is  not  over  yet."  However, 
our  friend's  absence  was  forgotten  in  the  en- 
joyment of  a  substantial  Highland  breakfast, 
and  by  the  time  the  sun  asserted  his  power 
against  the  mist  we  were  bravely  breasting 
a  steep  mountain-side,  spurred  on  by  the 
hope  of  a  good  day's  sport. 
55 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Only  one  incident  occurred  at  our  start. 
Sir  Alan  was  setting  his  face  against  a  steep 
brae  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  bare-legged 
gillie  who  acted  as  our  guide.  **  Dinna  gae 
yon  gait,  Sir  Alan.  We  must  win  ower  by 
the  brig  below." 

"Can't  we  get  across  by  the  stepping- 
stones  at  the  ford?"  inquired  our  host,  im- 
patiently. "The  bridge  is  a  mile  of  a 
round." 

"  I  dinna  ken  that  the  stanes  '11  be  ower 
muckle  safe,  Sir  Alan,  forbye  ye  canna  see 
them  at  a'  wi'  the  white  water  swirling  ower 
them,  and  the  pool  maybe  ten  feet  deep  close 
in  under  them.  We  mought  win  ower  recht 
enoo,  an'  again  we  mought  na,  ye  ken—" 

"  Yes,  I  ken,"  interrupted  SirAlan.  "  We  '11 
go  round  by  the  bridge,  gentlemen.  There 's 
a  flood  in  the  river,  it  appears— a  cheerful 
habit  the  Balmaquidder  has  when  you  least 
want  it  or  expect  it." 

By  the  bridge  accordingly  we  went;  and 
when  I  saw  the  brown  water  whirling  down 
in  swift  eddies  I  was  thankful  that  we  had 
not  attempted  the  stepping-stones. 
56 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

It  was  evening,  and  fast  growing  dark, 
when  we  reached  the  gl^  on  our  return, 
wet,  tired,  and  hungry,  but  thoroughly  sat- 
isfied with  the  day's  result.  We  were  step- 
ping out  briskly,  for  we  knew  we  were  close 
to  home,  when  a  big  mountain  hawk  swooped 
right  in  front  of  us.  Jones,  who  had  not 
drawn  the  cartridge  from  his  rifle,  let  fly  on 
the  instant,  without  remembering  how  small 
was  his  chance  with  a  bullet  at  quarry  on 
the  wing.  We  were  amusing  ourselves  chaff- 
ing Jones  as  the  bird  flew  off  untouched, 
when  Colonel  Eyre,  who  was  a  few  steps  to 
the  rear,  pulled  up  short  and  raised  his  hand 
to  signal  for  silence. 

We  all  heard  it  then— a  shrill,  lamentable 
voice  ringing  sharply  from  the  hillside. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  purport  of  that 
appeal:  it  was  a  cry  for  help.  But  the  mist 
was  beginning  to  settle,  and  the  echo  baffled 
us.  For  a  moment  we  looked  blankly  at  one 
another  and  around,  not  knowing  whither  to 
turn. 

Again  the  cry,  "Help,  help,  help!"  with  a 
note  of  agony  in  it  that  stirred  the  blood  like 
57 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

a  trumpet.  "  God  guide  us— 't  is  at  the  foord 
above  you,"  cried  the  giUie;  and,  tired  as  we 
were,  none  of  us  were  far  behind  him  when 
he  reached  the  stepping-stones. 

They  w^ere  hidden  by  a  mass  of  swirling, 
broken  water;  but  just  below  them  lay  the 
pool  of  which  the  guide  had  spoken— calm 
by  comparison  with  the  ford,  but  agitated, 
nevertheless,  with  a  swift  current  that  flashed 
between  steep  banks  faced  with  granite;  as 
ugly  a  place  for  an  accident  as  might  be 
found  in  the  whole  length  of  the  brawling 
Balmaquidder. 

And  an  accident  had  happened,  plainly 
enough.  On  one  of  the  granite  boulders 
knelt  Mrs.  Everton,  leaning  back  with  all 
her  might  against  the  drag  of  a  plaid,  one 
end  of  which  she  held,  while  the  other  was 
lost  in  the  black  shadows  of  the  pool. 

She  heard  our  footsteps  as  we  ran  up,  but 
did  not  turn  her  head.  "Help,  help!"  she 
cried  again.  "  I  can't  hold  on  much  longer, 
and  he— oh— " 

She  broke  off  with  a  sob  as  strong  hands 
relieved  her  of  the  extemporized  life-line; 
58 


-/•-= 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

and  Colonel  Eyre,  bending  forward,  peered 
down  into  the  obscurity  of  the  pool.  I  was 
one  of  those  w^ho  had  grasped  the  shore  end 
of  the  plaid,  and  the  strain  told  me  that 
whoever  was  below  still  maintained  his 
grasp.  *'Can  you  hold  on  another  mo- 
ment?" asked  the  colonel;  then,  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  "Cling  close  for  dear 
life.  Now,  boys,  gently  does  it.  A  steady, 
slow  pull— no  jerking";  and  in  another  mo- 
ment the  dripping,  half-senseless  form  of 
Tom  Everton  was  drawn  out  on  the  bank, 
his  drowning  grip  of  the  plaid  still  unloos- 
ened, and  laid  beside  the  fainting  form  of 
his  wdfe. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  Tom  explained  some 
hours  later,  when  we  were  all  assembled  for 
our  usual  smoking-room  symposium.  '*I  dare 
say  I  was  pretty  cross  all  day,  thinking  of 
the  sport  you  fellows  were  having  and  all  I 
was  missing,  and  toward  evening  my  wife 
suggested  that  we  should  walk  out  and  try 
to  meet  you.  We  kept  along  the  river  up  to 
the  stepping-stones;  but  the  crossing  there 
looked  so  bad  that  my  wife  would  not  hear 
60 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

of  my  attempting  it.  I  did  not  think  it  so 
very  dangerous,  but  I  dare  say  I  'd  have  let 
her  have  her  own  way—" 


"  As  you  usually  do,"  interjected  Jones. 
"  —when  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  shot 
61 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

close  by  on  the  other  side.  Then  I  started 
over  at  once.  I  've  been  across  the  ford  a 
dozen  times,  but  before  I  had  taken  three 
steps  I  found  the  stream  was  too  strong  for 
me.  I  tried  to  turn  back,  but  the  current 
seemed  to  whirl  me  right  off  my  feet;  I  went 
sliding  over  the  slippery  stones,  and  in  two 
seconds  I  was  soused  well  over  my  head  into 
the  pool  below,  and  spinning  round  like  a 
troll  in  a  brook.  I  tried  to  grasp  hold  of 
something  on  the  bank,  but  that  was  the 
only  result,"— showing  his  lacerated  hands, 
—"and  I  think  I  must  have  been  very  close 
to  kingdom  come  when  something  or  another 
flapped  in  my  face.  I  clutched  it  and  hung 
on  like  grim  death;  it  w^as  Jenny's  plaid, 
which  she  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  fling 
me  and  the  pluck  and  strength  to  hold  on 
to  till  you  came  to  help.  God  bless  her,  I 
say,"— Tom's  voice  faltered  a  little,  —  "  she 's 
a  wife  to  be  proud  of;  and  the  next  time  she 
has  a  dream  and  wants  me  to  stay  at  home, 
she  sha'n't  have  to  ask  me  twice." 

"Oh,  by  the  by,  the  dream!"  broke  in  Sir 
Alan.     "Is  this  accident  to  Tom  to  be  re- 
62 


DREAMS  GO  BY  CONTRARIES 

garded  as  the  fulfilment  of  his  wife's  dream 
or  not?" 

"Mrs.  Everton's  dream  was  a  warning," 
said  the  colonel.  "  I  should  say  that,  having 
profited  by  the  warning—" 

"But  stay,"  I  argued;  "did  she  profit  by 
the  warning?  She  persuaded  her  husband 
to  stay  at  home.  Now,  if  he  had  gone  with 
us  he  would  have  crossed  by  the  bridge  and 
been  as  safe  as  any  of  us.  The  dream  did 
not  save  him.  On  the  contrary,  it  very 
nearly  drowned  him." 

"  She  acted  for  the  best,  and  all  's  well 
that  ends  well,"  replied  the  colonel.  "  Look 
at  my  dream,  now.  If  I  had  not  gone  to  my 
wife's  help  and  shot  that  tiger,  I  should 
never  have  seen  her  again.  No,  no;  as  I 
said  before,  you  can't  expect  these  warnings 
to  be  printed  out  in  big  type.  You  must 
just  take  them  as  they  come,  and  chance 
your  reading  them  aright." 

"And  come  within  an  ace  of  drowning 
yourself  or  some  one  else,"  interjected  Jones. 

"It  only  bears  out  the  old  saying  that 
'dreams  go  by  contraries,'"  I  remarked. 
63 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Still,  these  are  a  very  remarkable  pair  of 
coincidences." 

"  Here  's  my  view,"  said  Sir  Alan.  "  Eat 
light  suppers,  go  to  bed  healthily  tired,  and 
you  won't  dream  at  all,  or,  if  you  must,  for- 
get all  about  it  as  soon  as  possible.  You 
can  torture  a  warning  out  of  almost  any- 
thing, and  make  yourself  WTetched  trying  to 
find  out  where  the  hidden  danger  is,  and  very 
likely  rush  right  into  it,  as  Everton  did,  try- 
ing to  avoid  it.  Half  the  time  dreams  do  go 
by  contraries,  and  it 's  dangerous  meddling 
with  what  we  don't  understand." 

And  by  the  time  the  spirit-case  had  com- 
pleted its  next  round  we  all  agreed  with 
Sir  Alan. 


64 


A  LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

BY 

James  T.  McKay 


A  LEAP   IN  THE  DARK 

THE  Windhams  and  Mandisons  were  old 
neighbors,  and  Phil  Windham  had  al- 
ways been  very  much  at  home  among  the 
Mandisons,  and  especially  with  Mary,  the 
eldest  daughter,  who  was  like  a  wise,  kind 
sister  to  him.  Now  his  own  house  began  to 
break  up:  his  brothers  went  West;  his  sisters 
married;  his  father,  who  was  a  chemist  and 
inventor,  was  killed  one  day  by  an  explosion. 
In  these  trying  times  the  Mandison  house- 
hold was  his  chief  resource,  and  Mary  most 
of  all. 

Then  the  Mandisons  moved  away.     That 
seemed  to  Windham  like  the  end  of  things. 
He  was  awfully  lonely,  and  thought  a  great 
67 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

deal  about  Mary  in  the  months  that  followed, 
but  was  not  quite  sure  of  himself,  though  he 
was  certain  there  was  no  one  else  he  liked 
and  admired  half  so  much.  But  in  the  fol- 
lowing winter  he  went  to  spend  the  holidays 
with  the  Mandisons,  and  when  he  came  away 
he  and  Mary  were  engaged. 

The  next  summer  the  Mandisons  took  a 
cottage  at  the  shore,  and  Windham  went  to 
spend  some  weeks  with  them.  Idly  busy  and 
calmly  happy  in  the  pleasant  company  of 
Mary  and  all  the  friendly  house,  the  sunny 
days  slipped  by,  till  one  came  that  disturbed 
his  dream.  An  aunt  of  Mary's  arrived,  with 
her  husband,  Dr.  Saxon,  and  his  niece,  Agnes 
Maine.  At  the  first  glance  Miss  Maine  chal- 
lenged Windham's  attention.  She  was  a  tall 
and  striking  person,  with  a  keen  glance  that 
he  felt  took  his  measure  at  the  first  look. 
She  piqued  his  curiosity,  and  interested  him 
more  and  more. 

One  day  he  saw  her  and  Mary  together, 

and  caught  himself  comparing  them— not 

in  Mary's  favor.     Panic  seized  him,  and  he 

turned  his  back  on  Miss  Maine  and  devoted 

68 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

himself  to  Mary.  Miss  Maine  went  to  stay 
with  some  neighbors,  the  Colemans.  One 
night  she  was  caught  at  the  Mandisons  by  a 
storm.  Mary  asked  Windham  to  entertain 
her,  and  he  went  and  asked  her  to  play 
chess.  She  declined  coldly,  and  Windham 
turned  away  with  such  a  look  that  Mary 
wondered  what  Agnes  could  have  said  so  un- 
kind ;  and  the  next  day  Miss  Maine  spoke  so 
gently  to  him  that  it  warmed  him  all  through. 
Still  he  persistently  avoided  her. 

The  Colemans  got  up  a  play  in  the  attic  of 
their  large  old  house.  On  the  night  of  the 
performance  the  place  was  crowded.  The 
first  two  acts  went  off  smoothly. 

Windham  had  been  helping  to  shift  the 
scenes,  and  was  standing  alone,  looking  over 
the  animated  spectacle  as  the  audience 
chatted  and  laughed.  Something  in  the 
play  had  made  him  think  of  Agnes  Maine, 
though  she  was  not  in  the  cast  and  he  had 
not  seen  her.  Suddenly,  without  any  notice 
of  her  approach,  she  stood  close  to  him, 
looking  in  his  face.  Her  face  was  paler 
than  usual,  and  her  eyes  had  a  startling 
69 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

light  in  them.  She  said  only  half  a  dozen 
low  words,  but  they  made  him  turn  ghastly 
"white.     What  she  said  was: 

"  The  house  is  on  fire  down-stairs." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  an  instant,  long 
enough  to  reflect  that  any  alarm  would  re- 
sult in  piling  those  gay  people  in  an  awful 
mass  at  the  foot  of  the  one  steep  and  frag- 
ile stairway.  The  stage  entrance  was  little 
better  than  an  inclosed  ladder,  and  not  to 
be  thought  of. 

''  Go  and  stand  at  the  head  of  the  stairs," 
he  said  to  her. 

The  bell  rang  for  the  curtain  to  rise,  but 
he  slipped  back  behind  it,  and  it  did  not  go 
up.  Instead,  Jeffrey  Coleman  appeared  be- 
fore it,  bowing  and  smiling  with  exaggera- 
tion, and  announced  that  the  continuation 
of  the  performance  had  been  arranged  as  a 
surprise  below-stairs,  and  would  be  found 
even  more  exciting  and  interesting  than  the 
part  already  given.  The  audience  were  re- 
quested to  go  below  quickly,  but  at  the  same 
time  were  cautioned  against  crowding,  as  the 
stair  was  rather  steep,  and  temporary.  As 
70 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

they  did  not  start  at  once  he  came  off  the 
stage  and  led  the  way,  going  on  down  the 
stairs,  and  calling  gaily  to  the  rest  to  follow. 

Windham  had  got  to  the  stair-head  by  this 
time.  Agnes  Maine  stood  there  on  one  side, 
looking  calm  and  contained,  and  he  took  up 
his  position  on  the  other,  and  followed  the 
cue  given  by  young  Coleman.  He  began  to 
call  out,  extolling  the  absorbing  and  thrill- 
ing character  of  the  performance  down- 
stairs with  the  extravagant  epithets  of  the 
circus  posters,  laughing  all  the  while.  He 
urged  them  on  when  they  lingered,  and  re- 
strained them  when  they  came  too  fast, 
addressing  one  and  another  with  jocularity, 
laying  his  hands  on  some  and  pushing  them 
on  with  assumed  playfulness,  keeping  up  the 
fire  of  raillery  with  desperate  resistance. 
When  screams  were  heard  now  and  then 
from  below,  he  made  it  appear  to  be  only 
excited  feminine  merriment,  directing  at- 
tention to  it,  and  calling  out  to  those  yet  to 
come  : 

"  You  hear  them  ?     Oh,  yes ;  you  '11  scream 
too  when  you  see  it!" 
71 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

All  the  time,  though  his  faculties  were 
sufficiently  strained  by  the  effort  he  was 
making,  he  was  watching  Agnes  Maine,  who 
stood  opposite,  doing  nothing,  but  looking 
her  calm,  pale  self,  and  now  and  then  smil- 
ing slightly  at  his  extravagant  humor;  and 
he  thought  admiringly  that  her  simple  quiet 
did  more  to  keep  up  the  illusion  than  all  his 
labored  and  violent  simulation. 

It  seemed  as  if  there  never  would  be  an 
end  to  the  stream  of  leisurely  people  who 
answered  his  banter  with  laugh  and  joke. 
But  finally  the  last  of  them  were  fairly  on 
the  stair,  and  he  turned  to  Agnes  Maine  with 
a  suddenly  transformed  face. 

"Now— be  quick!"  he  called. 

But  she  gave  a  low  cry,  looking  away  to- 
ward the  farther  end,  where  she  caught  sight 
of  a  young  couple  still  lingering.  She  ran 
toward  them,  calling  to  them  to  hurry;  and 
as  they  did  not  understand,  she  took  hold  of 
the  girl  and  made  her  run.  Windham  had 
followed  her,  and  the  four  came  together  to 
the  stair-head;  but  there  they  stopped,  and 
the  young  girl  broke  into  wild  screams.  The 
72 


A   LEAP  IN   THE  DARK 

foot  of  the  stairway  was  wrapped  in  smoke 
and  flames. 

There  was  an  observatory  upon  the  house, 
into  which  Windham  had  once  gone  with 
Jeffrey  Coleman;  and  he  turned  to  it  now, 
and  made  the  three  go  up  before  him.  He 
stopped  and  cut  away  a  rope  that  held  some 
of  the  hangings,  and  took  it  up  with  him. 
Miss  Maine  was  standing  with  her  arm  about 
Fanny  Lee,  whom  she  had  quieted. 

"Had  she  better  go  first?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  Miss  Maine  answered. 

He  fastened  the  rope  about  the  girl,  as- 
sured her  that  they  would  let  her  down 
safely,  and  between  them  they  persuaded 
her,  shrinkingly,  to  let  herself  be  swung 
over  and  lowered  to  the  ground.  In  this 
Miss  Maine  gave  more  help  than  young  Pritch- 
ard,  who  shook  and  chattered  so  much  as 
to  be  of  little  use.  And  as  soon  as  the  girl 
was  down,  and  Windham  turned  toward  Miss 
Maine,  Pritchard  took  a  turn  of  the  rope 
around  the  railing  with  a  hasty  knot,  went 
over,  and  slid  down  it  out  of  sight;  but  be- 
fore he  reached  the  ground  the  rope  broke 
73 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

loose,  and  slipped  out  of  Windham's  grasp  as 
he  tried  to  catch  it. 

A  cry  came  up  from  below.  Windham 
turned  toward  Miss  Maine,  and  they  looked 
at  one  another,  but  said  nothing.  She  was 
very  pale  and  still.  Windham  glanced  down 
and  around;  the  fire  was  already  following 
them  up  the  tower.  He  made  her  come  to 
the  other  side,  where  the  balcony  overhung 
the  ridge  of  the  sloping  roof,  got  over  the 
railing,  and  helped  her  to  do  the  same  and 
to  seat  herself  on  the  narrow  ledge  outside, 
holding  on  by  the  bars  with  her  arms  behind 
her.  He  let  himself  dowm  by  his  hands  till 
within  two  or  three  feet  of  the  roof,  and 
dropped  safely  upon  it.  Then  he  stood  up, 
facing  her,  just  below,  braced  himself  with 
one  foot  on  each  side  of  the  ridge,  and  told 
her  to  loosen  her  hold  and  let  herself  fall 
forward.  She  did  so,  and  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  as  she  fell. 

It  was  a  struggle  for  a  minute  to  keep  his 
balance;  and,  whether  in  the  involuntary 
stress  of  the  effort  or  by  an  instinctive  im- 
pulse, conscious  or  otherwise,  he  clasped  her 
74 


A   LEAP   IN  THE  DARK 

close,  for  a  moment,  till  her  face  touched  his 
own.  Then  he  put  her  down,  and  they  sat 
on  the  ridge  near  each  other,  flushed  and 
short  of  breath.  Below,  on  the  lawn,  a 
throng  of  people  looked  up  at  them,  some 
motionless,  some  gesticulating,  and  some 
shouting  in  dumb-show,  their  voices  drowned 
in  the  fierce  roar  and  crackling  that  raged 
beneath  the  roof  and  shut  in  the  two  above 
it  in  a  kind  of  visible  privacy.  They  were 
still  awhile;  then  Agnes  asked,  "Can  we  do 
anything  more  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered;  "nothing  but  wait." 

Both  saw  that  men  were  running  for  lad- 
ders and  ropes.     Presently  he  asked  quietly: 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment,  then 
answered : 

"I  suppose  I  thought  you  would  know 
what  to  do." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  in  a  grave,  low 
voice. 

After  a  little  the  tower  blazed  out  above 
them,  and  they  moved  along  the  ridge  till 
stopped  by  a  chimney,  against  which  he  made 
75 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

her  lean.  Then  they  sat  still  again.  The 
flames  rose  above  the  eaves  on  one  side,  and 
flared  higher  and  hotter.  Soon  they  grew 
scorching,  and  Agnes  said,  with  quickened 
breathing: 

"  We  could  n't  stay  here  long." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  the  side  of  her  face 
toward  the  fire  glowed  bright  red.  He  took 
off  his  coat,  moved  close  to  her,  and  held  it 
up  between  their  faces  and  the  flames;  and 
they  sat  together  so,  breathing  audibly,  but 
not  speaking,  till  the  head  of  a  ladder  rose 
suddenly  above  the  eaves,  and  a  minute  later 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  Jeffrey  Coleman. 
He  flung  a  rope  to  Windham,  who  in  another 
minute  had  let  Miss  Maine  slip  down  by  it 
to  the  ladder;  then,  throwing  a  noose  of  it 
over  the  chimney,  he  slid  down  himself  to 
the  eaves  and  so  to  the  ground. 

Miss  Maine  stood  waiting  for  him,  pale 
and  trembling  now,  but  said  nothing.  Mary 
Mandison  was  with  her;  she  had  made  no 
scene,  and  made  none  now. 

But  there  were  sharper  eyes  than  Mary's. 
That  night,  as  Windham  strolled  on  the 
76 


AGNES  SAID,   WITH   QUICKENED   BREATHING,   *WE 
COULD   n't   stay  here   LONG.'" 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

lawn  alone,  Dr.  Saxon  confronted  him, 
grimly  puffing  at  his  pipe;  then  he  said: 

**  I  thought  you  were  an  honest  fellow." 

Windham  leaned  against  a  tree. 

"  I  want  to  be,"  he  said  feebly. 

"Then  you  '11  have  to  look  sharp,"  the 
doctor  retorted.  "  You  'd  better  go  fishing 
with  me  up-country  in  the  morning." 

He  went,  Mary  making  him  promise  to  re- 
turn in  time  for  an  excurison  to  Blackberrj'- 
Island  which  he  had  helped  her  plan.  He 
got  back  the  night  before,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing the  party  set  out,  some  going  round  the 
shore  by  stage,  and  some  in  the  boat  down 
the  bay. 

Miss  Maine  went  with  those  in  the  boat, 
and  Windham  went  with  Mary  in  the  stage. 
Both  on  the  way  and  after  their  arrival  he 
stayed  by  her  and  did  all  he  could  to  be  use- 
ful and  amusing. 

They  lunched  on  a  grassy  bank  in  the 
shade  of  a  cliff,  by  a  tumbling  brook  that 
streamed  down  from  the  rocks.  By  and  by 
Mary  remarked  that  she  would  like  to  see 
where  the  little  torrent  came  from,  and 
78 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

Windham  said  he  would  try  and  find  out  for 
her.  He  scrambled  up,  and  soon  passed  out 
of  sight  among  the  boulders.  He  found 
some  tough  climbing,  but  kept  on,  and  after 
a  while  traced  the  stream  to  a  clear  pool 
where  a  spring  bubbled  out  of  a  rock  wall  in 
a  cave-like  chamber  near  the  top. 

As  he  reached  its  edge  he  caught  sight  of 
the  reflection  in  the  pool  of  a  woman's  white 
dress,  and,  glancing  up,  saw  Agnes  Maine 
standing  a  little  above  him,  on  a  sort  of 
natural  pedestal  in  a  rude  niche  at  one  side. 
She  looked  so  like  a  statue  that  she  smiled 
slightly  at  the  confused  thought  of  it  which 
she  saw  for  an  instant  in  his  face;  but  she 
turned  grave  then,  as  their  eyes  met  for  a 
moment  in  a  look  of  intimate  recognition. 
Then  he  turned  his  away,  with  a  sudden 
terror  at  himself,  and  leaned  back  against 
the  wall,  white  in  the  face. 

She  stepped  down  and  passed  by  him.  He 
half  put  out  his  hand  to  stop  her,  but  drew 
it  back;  and  she  partly  turned  at  the  gesture, 
but  went  on  out  of  his  sight. 

He  stood  there  for  some  time,  then  climbed 
79 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

down  the  rocks  again,  shaping  his  features 
into  a  careless  form  as  he  went,  and  came 
back  to  Mary  with  a  forced  smile  on  his  face. 
But  he  forgot  what  he  had  gone  for,  and 
looked  confused  when  Mary  asked  him  if  he 
had  found  it;  and  she  commented: 

''Why,  Philip,  what  has  happened?  You 
look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  have,"  he  answered. 

Mary  asked  no  more,  except  by  her  look. 
Some  one  came  and  proposed  a  sail,  and 
Windham  eagerly  agreed,  and  went  out  in 
the  boat  with  Mary  and  others. 

They  sailed  down  the  bay.  On  the  return 
the  wind  died  away,  and  when  they  got  back 
the  stage  had  gone  with  more  than  half  the 
party,  and  Agnes  Maine  was  not  among  those 
who  were  waiting.  They  came  on  board,  and 
the  boat  headed  away  for  home. 

After  landing  they  had  to  walk  across 
some  fields.  When  near  the  house  Mary 
missed  something,  and  Windham  went  back 
for  it.  He  had  to  cross  the  road,  and  as  he 
came  near  it  the  stage  passed  along,  with  its 
merry  company  laughing  and  singing.  They 
80 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

did  not  notice  him  among  the  trees,  but  he 
distinctly  saw  all  who  were  in  the  open 
vehicle,  and  Miss  Maine  was  not  among 
them. 

She  had  climbed  up  the  cliff  by  a  gradual, 
roundabout  path;  and  after  Windham  saw 
her  she  had  wandered  on,  lost  herself  for  a 
while,  and  got  back  after  both  stage  and 
boat  had  left,  each  party  supposing  she  had 
gone  with  the  other. 

Windham  found  a  rowboat,  and  started 
back.  He  knew  nothing  about  boats,  but 
the  bay  was  very  smooth,  it  was  yet  early, 
and  he  got  across  in  due  time.  As  he  neared 
the  island  he  saw  her,  in  her  white  dress, 
standing  on  the  bluff,  and  looking  out  toward 
him. 

Off  the  shore  rocks  and  boulders  stood 
thickly  out  of  the  water,  and  Windham 
threaded  his  way  in  among  them,  thinking 
nothing  of  those  underneath.  The  skiff  was 
little  better  than  an  egg-shell,  being  built  of 
half-inch  cedar;  and  before  he  knew  what 
had  happened,  the  point  of  a  sunken  rock 
had  cut  through  the  bows  and  the  boat  was 
81 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

filling  with  water.  With  a  landsman's  in- 
stinct, he  stood  up  on  a  thwart;  the  boat 
tipped  over  and  went  from  under  him.  In 
the  effort  to  right  it  he  made  a  thrust  down- 
ward with  one  of  the  oars,  but  found  no  bot- 
tom; and  the  next  minute  Agnes  saw  him 
clinging  to  the  side  of  a  steep  rock,  with  only 
his  head  and  shoulders  out  of  water. 

She  did  not  cry  out;  but  after  he  had 
struggled  vainly  to  get  up  the  rock,  and 
found  no  other  support  for  foot  or  hand 
than  the  one  projection  just  above  him  by 
which  he  held,  he  looked  toward  her  as  he 
clung  there,  out  of  breath,  and  saw  her 
eagerly  watching  him  from  the  water's 
edge,  and  her  voice  showed  the  stress  of 
her  feeling,  though  it  was  quite  clear,  when 
she  called: 

"Can't  you  climb  up?" 

"No;  there  is  nothing  to  hold  by." 

"Can  you  swim?" 

"No." 

She  looked  all  about,  then  back  to  him. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight;  the  island  was 
out  of  the  lines  of  communication,  and  a 
82 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

point  just  north  of  them  shut  off  the  open 
water;  but  she  saw  that  the  reef  to  which 
Windham  clung  trended  in  to  the  shore  a 
little  way  off,  and  she  called: 

"I  think  I  can  get  out  to  you;  keep  hold 
till  I  come." 

She  ran  along  the  beach,  but  not  all  the 
way;  as  soon  as  she  was  opposite  a  part  of 
the  reef  that  seemed  accessible,  she  walked 
straight  into  the  water,  and  made  her  way 
through  it,  though  it  was  two  or  three  feet 
deep  near  the  rocks.  He  saw  her  clamber 
upon  them  and  start  toward  him,  springing 
from  one  to  another,  wading  across  sub- 
merged places,  climbing  around  or  over  the 
higher  points.  And  even  there,  in  his  des- 
perate plight,  as  he  watched  her  coming 
steadily  toward  him,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
difficult  path  and  her  skirt  instinctively 
gathered  a  little  in  one  hand,  the  sight  of 
her  fearless  grace  thrilled  through  him  and 
filled  him  with  despairing  admiration. 

She  came  presently  to  the  edge  of  a  wider 
gap  with  clear  water  beneath,  and  paused  for 
an  instant.     Windham  called  out: 
83 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Don't  jump;  you  '11  be  lost!" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  studied  the 
rocks  again,  stepped  back,  then  forward 
quickly,  and  sprang  across.  She  slipped 
and  fell,  but  got  to  her  feet  again,  and 
came  on  as  before.  She  went  out  of  Wind- 
ham's sight,  but  in  another  minute  he  heard 
a  rustle  above  him,  looked  up,  and  saw  her 
standing  very  near  the  edge  and  looking 
down  at  him,  panting  a  little,  but  otherwise 
calm. 

"Don't  stand  there;  you  will  fall!"  he 
called  to  her. 

She  knelt  down  and  tried  to  reach  over, 
but  could  not.  She  raised  herself  again, 
and  looked  all  around  anxiously,  but  saw  no 
one;  she  had  not  seen  any  one  since  she  left 
him,  hours  before,  on  the  cliff.  She  looked 
down  at  him,  and  asked: 

"Can  you  hold  on  long?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  not  very  long." 

She  moved  back,  and  lay  down  on  the  rock, 

with  her  face  over  the  edge.     It  was  wet 

and  slippery  and  inclined  forward,  so  that  she 

had  to  brace  herself  with  one  hand  by  a  pro- 

84 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

jection  just  below  the  brink.  Lying  so,  she 
could  reach  down  very  near  him. 

"  Take  hold  of  my  hand,"  she  said. 

He  raised  one  arm  with  an  effort,  so  that 
she  caught  him  by  the  wTist,  and  his  fingers 
closed  about  hers.  She  tried  to  pull  him  up 
slowly;  but  he  felt  that  it  was  hopeless,  and 
would  only  result  in  drawing  her  off  the  rock, 
so  he  settled  back  as  before.  He  noticed 
that  she  had  given  him  her  left  hand,  and 
saw  that  there  was  another  reason  besides 
the  necessity  of  bracing  herself  with  her 
right:  her  wrist  was  cut  and  bleeding. 

"Oh,  you  are  hurt!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Never  mind,"  she  replied;  "that  is 
nothing." 

He  looked  up  in  her  face  with  passionate 
regret.  Her  lips  were  parted,  and  her 
breathing  came  quick  and  deep.  He  felt 
in  her  wrist  the  hot  blood  with  which  all 
her  pulses  throbbed,  and  it  went  through 
him  as  though  one  current  flowed  in  their 
veins.  Her  eyes  looked  full  into  his,  and  did 
not  turn  away  till  the  lashes  trembled  over 
them  suddenly,  and  tears  gushed  out  upon 
85 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

her  face.  An  agony  of  yearning  took  hold 
of  Windham  and  \vrung  his  heart. 

''Agnes,  do  you  know?"  he  asked. 

And  she  answered,  "  Yes." 

When  she  could  see  him  again,  drops  stood 
out  on  his  forehead,  and  his  eyes  looked  up 
at  her  with  a  despairing  tenderness.  Her 
lips  closed,  and  her  features  settled  into  a 
look  of  answering  resolve. 

"You  must  not  give  up,"  she  urged. 
"Don't  let  go  of  my  hand." 

''  Oh,  I  must ! "  he  answered.  "  You 
could  n't  hold  me;  I  should  only  draw  you 
down." 

She  neither  looked  away  nor  made  any 
reply. 

''It  would  do  no  good,"  he  went  on;  "I 
should  only  drown  you  too." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  answered.  "  I  will  not 
let  you  go." 

"Oh,  Agnes!"  he  responded,  the  faint- 
ness  of  exhaustion  creeping  over  him  and 
mingling  with  a  sharp  but  sweet  despair. 

Mary  was  standing  at  the  door  when  the 
stage  arrived,  and  she  saw  that  Agnes  w^as 
86 


-!>  'Si 


,^^r^   ^ 


^^^s^: 


^^ 


"' AGNES,    DO   YOU   KNOW?'   HE   ASKED.      AND  SHE 
ANSWERED,    '  YES.'" 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

not  there.  She  took  one  of  her  brothers, 
who  was  a  good  boatman,  and  started  back 
at  once.  When  their  boat  rounded  the  point 
of  the  island  she  was  on  the  lookout,  and  was 
the  first  to  see  the  two  they  came  to  succor 
none  too  soon.  And  before  they  saw  her  she 
caught  sight,  with  terrible  clearness,  of  the 
look  in  the  two  faces  that  were  bent  upon 
each  other.  It  was  she  who  supported 
Windham  until  Agnes  could  be  taken  off 
and  preparations  made  for  getting  him  on 
board ;  but  she  turned  her  eyes  away  and  did 
not  speak  to  him. 

On  the  way  back  she  hardly  noticed  the 
dreary  and  draggled  pair,  who  had  little  to 
say  for  themselves.  Many  things  that  had 
puzzled  and  troubled  her  ranged  themselves 
in  a  dreadful  sequence  and  order  now  in  her 
unsuspicious  mind.  On  their  arrival  she 
made  some  arrangements  for  their  comfort 
quietly,  then  went  to  her  room  and  did  not 
come  df)wn  again. 

Windham  left  early  in  the  morning,  went 
straight  back  to  Dr.  Saxon,  and  told  him  the 
whole  story. 

88 


A  LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

"  I  hardly  know  whether  I  'm  a  villain  or 
not,"  Windham  concluded. 

''You  might  as  well  be,"  the  doctor 
growled;  "you  Ve  been  a  consummate  fool, 
and  one  does  about  as  much  harm  as  the 
other.  Go  home  now,  and  stay  there;  and 
don't  do  anything  more,  for  heaven's  sake, 
until  you  hear  from  me." 

Windham  went  home  and  was  very  miser- 
able, as  may  be  supposed.  Hearing  nothing 
for  some  time,  he  could  not  bear  it,  and  wrote 
to  Mary  that  he  honored  and  admired  her, 
and  thought  everything  of  her  that  he  ever 
had  or  could.     In  a  week  he  got  this  reply: 

"Mary  Mandison  has  received  Philip  Wind- 
ham's letter,  and  can  only  reply  that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  said." 

This  stung  him  more  deeply  than  silence, 
and  he  \vrote  that  he  was  going  to  see  her 
on  a  certain  day,  and  begged  her  not  to 
deny  him.  He  went  at  the  time,  and  she 
saw  him,  simply  sitting  still  and  hearing 
what  he  had  to  say.  He  hardly  knew 
what  to  say  then,  but  vowed  and  protested, 
and  finally  complained  of  her  coldness  and 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

cruelty.  She  replied  that  she  was  not  cold 
or  cruel,  but  only,  as  she  had  told  him,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  In  the  end  he  found 
this  was  true,  and  rushed  away  in  despair. 

Mary  had  seemed  calm;  but  when  her  mo- 
ther came  in  that  afternoon  and  looked  for 
her,  she  found  her  in  her  room,  lying  on  her 
face. 

When  she  knew  who  it  was,  she  raised 
herself  silently,  looked  in  her  mother's  face 
a  moment,  put  her  arms  about  her  neck,  and 
hid  her  hot,  dry  eyes  there  as  she  used  to  do 
when  a  child. 

Late  that  night  those  two  were  alone  to- 
gether in  the  same  place,  and  before  they 
parted  the  mother  said: 

"  You  were  always  my  brave  child,  and  you 
are  going  to  be  my  brave  Mary  still." 

And  Mary  answered  with  a  low  cry: 

"Yes— yes;  but  not  now— not  now!" 

For  a  good  while  Windham  felt  the  sensa- 
tion of  ha^ing  run  headlong  upon  a  blank 
wall  and  been  flung  back  and  crippled.  But 
the  feeling  wore  itself  out  as  the  months 
passed. 

90 


A   LEAP   IN  THE  DARK 

It  was  nearly  a  year  before  he  heard  from 
Dr.  Saxon,  and  he  had  given  up  looking  for 
anything  from  him  when  he  received  a  cold 
note  inviting  him  to  call  at  the  doctor's 
home,  if  he  chose,  at  a  certain  date  and 
hour.  At  the  time  set  he  went  to  the  city, 
and  rang  the  doctor's  bell  as  the  hour  was 
striking. 

He  was  shown  into  the  library,  and  when 
the  door  closed  behind  him  he  fell  back 
against  it.  Dr.  Saxon  was  not  the  only 
person  in  the  room:  at  the  farther  end  sat 
Agnes  Maine.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  com- 
ing; and  when  she  glanced  round  and  saw 
him,  she  stood  up  and  faced  him,  with  her 
hands  crossed  before  her,  her  breathing 
quickened,  and  her  face  flushed  blood-red. 

The  old  doctor  leaned  back  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other,  studying  them  open- 
ly and  keenly.  When  he  was  satisfied  he 
ordered  Windham  to  take  a  chair  near  the 
window,  and  told  Agnes  she  might  go  out. 
She  faced  him  a  moment,  then  went  away 
with  her  straight,  proud  carriage.  The  doc- 
tor finished  something  he  was  at,  then  got 
91 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

his  pipe  and  filled  and  lighted  it,  backed  up 
against  the  chimneypiece,  and  stood  eying 
Windham  with  something  more  than  his 
usual  scowl. 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  asked  finally, 
"what  did  you  come  here  for?" 

"  I  came  here  because  you  asked  me  to." 

"No,  sir;  you  did  n't,"  the  old  man  re- 
torted. "I  said  you  might  come  if  you 
liked." 

Windham  stood  up  trembling,  and  replied 
with  suppressed  passion: 

"I  came  on  your  invitation.  I  did  not 
come  to  be  insulted." 

"Tut,  tut,"  the  doctor  rejoined.  "You 
need  n't  be  so  hoity-toity;  you  have  n't  much 
occasion.  Sit  down.  Have  you  been  mak- 
ing any  more  of  your  '  mistakes,'  as  you  call 
them?" 

Windham  answered  emphatically,  "No!" 

"  Are  you  going  to  ?  "  the  doctor  continued. 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not,"  Windham  replied,  with 
angry  decision. 

"  Well,  I  would  n't;  you  've  done  enough," 
the  doctor  commented  roughly.  "  You  call 
92 


A  LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

it  a  mistake,  but  I  call  it  blind  stupidity, 
worse  than  many  crimes.  Mary  is  worth 
three  of  Agnes,  to  begin  with;  but  it  would 
be  just  as  bad  if  she  were  a  doll  or  a  dolt. 
Any  fellow  out  of  swaddling-clothes,  who  has 
brains  in  his  body,  and  is  n't  made  of  wood, 
ought  to  know  that  passion  is  as  hard  a  fact 
as  hunger,  and  no  more  to  be  left  out  of  ac- 
count. You  were  bound  to  know  the  chances 
were  that  it  would  have  to  be  reckoned  with, 
first  or  last,  and  you  deldberately  took  the 
risk  of  \vrecking  two  women's  lives.  I  don't 
say  anything  about  your  own;  you  richly  de- 
serve all  you  got  and  all  that  's  coming  to 
you.  If  law  could  be  made  to  conform  to  ab- 
stract justice,  it  would  rank  your  offense  worse 
than  many  for  which  men  pay  behind  bars." 

He  went  out  abruptly,  and  after  a  few 
minutes  returned  with  Agnes,  who  came  in, 
lingering  and  apparently  unwilling. 

''Here,  Agnes,  I  am  going  out,"  he  said. 
"  I  've  been  giving  this  young  man  my  opinion 
of  him,  and  have  n't  any  more  time  to  waste. 
You  can  tell  him  what  you  think  of  him,  and 
send  him  off." 

93 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

He  went  out  and  banged  the  door  after 
him.  Agnes  leaned  agamst  it,  and  stood 
there,  downcast  and  perfectly  still.  Wind- 
ham sat  sunk  together,  as  the  doctor  had 
left  him,  waiting  for  her  to  speak;  but  she 
did  not,  and  after  a  while  he  got  up  and 
stood  by  the  high  desk,  looking  at  her. 
Finally  he  spoke  low: 

"Are  you  going  to  scold  me,  too?  Mary 
has  discarded  me,  and  your  uncle  says  I  am 
a  miserable  sinner  and  ought  to  be  in  the 
penitentiary.  I  don't  deny  it,  but  if  I  went 
there  it  would  be  for  your  sake.  Do  you  con- 
demn me  too?    Have  you  no  mercy  for  me?  " 

A  flush  spread  slowly  over  her  pale  face. 
Then  she  replied  softly: 

"  No ;  I  have  no  right.  I  am  no  better  than 
you." 

Two  or  three  hours  later  Dr.  Saxon  sat 
at  his  desk,  when  Agnes  entered  and  came 
silently  and  stood  beside  him.  He  did  not 
look  up,  but  asked  quietly: 

"Well,  have  you  packed  him  off?" 

"No,"  she  answered  under  her  breath; 
"  you  know  I  have  n't." 
94 


A   LEAP  IN  THE  DARK 

He  smiled  up  at  her,— this  gruff  old  man 
had  a  rare  smile,  on  occasion,  for  those  he- 
liked,— and  he  said: 

"Well,  he  is  n't  the  worst  they  make.- 
He 's  got  spirit,  and  he  can  take  a  drubbing, 
too,  when  it 's  deserved.  I  tried  him  pretty- 
well.  Did  n't  I  fire  into  him,  though,  hot 
shot!"  He  fairly  grinned  at  the  recollec- 
tion. "  I  had  to,  you  know,  to  keep  myself 
in  countenance.  I  suppose  I  said  rather 
more  than  I  meant— but  don't  you  tell 
him   so." 

She  smiled.  "  I  have  told  him  so  already; 
I  told  him  you  did  n't  mean  a  word  you 
said." 

"  You  presumptuous  baggage ! "  The  doc- 
tor scowled  now.  ''  Then  you  told  him  a  tre- 
mendous fib.  I  meant  a  deal  of  it.  Well, 
he  '11  get  his  deserts  yet  if  he  gets  you,  you 
deceiving  minx.  I  told  him  one  thing  that 
was  true  enough,  anyway."  He  smiled 
broadly  again.  ''I  told  him  Mary  was 
worth  half  a  dozen  of  you." 

Agnes  turned  grave,  and  put  down  her 
head  so  that  she  hid  her  face. 
95 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"So  she  is,"  she  answered.  "Oh,  I  'm 
very  sorry— and  ashamed." 

"Well,  well,"  the  old  doctor  responded 
soberly,  stroking  her  cheek;  "it  is  a  pity, 
but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped.  Mary  's 
made  of  good  stuff,  and  will  pull  through. 
It  would  n't  do  her  any  good  if  three  lives 
were  spoiled  instead  of  one.  It 's  lucky  she 
found  out  before  it  was  too  late." 


96 


HOW  CASSIE   SAVED   THE   SPOONS 

BY 

Annie  Howells  Frechette 


HOW   CASSIE   SAVED   THE   SPOONS 

THE  last  good-by  had  been  said,  and  the 
comfortable  country  carriage,  drawn  by 
its  two  glossy  bay  horses,  had  disappeared 
around  a  knoll. 

"  They  is  dorn,"  remarked  the  baby,  as  if 
just  in  possession  of  a  solemn  fact. 

"Torse  they  is  dorn,  you  blessed  baby," 
answered  Florence,  his  fifteen-year-old  sister, 
stooping  down  and  lifting  him  in  her  strong 
arms  and  kissing  him. 

The  baby,  let  me  remark,  was  a  sturdy  boy 
of  four,  with  bright  brown  eyes  and  red 
cheeks— cheeks  so  plump  that  when  you  had 
a  side  view  of  his  face  you  could  only  see  the 
tip  of  his  little  pug  nose. 
99 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 


"Well,  if  ever  any- 
body has  earned  a  holi- 
"""'  day,  they  are  father  and 
mother,"  said  Cassie. 

""  Cassie    dear,    your 

sentiment  is  better  than 

"C^^*  l^SP^    -^"-^     y^^^  grammar,"  laughed 


Rose,  the  eldest  of  the     '5p 
three  sisters. 

100 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED   THE  SPOONS 

"Never  you  mind  my  grammar,  Miss 
Eglantine.  I  may  n't  have  much  'book- 
TarninV  but  I  've  got  a  head  on  my  shoul- 
ders, as  father  frequently  remarks— which 
is  a  good  thing,  for  I  could  n't  bear  to  look 
at  myself  in  the  glass  if  I  had  n't;  and  be- 
sides, how  could  I  do  my  hair  up  so  neatly 
[Cassie's  hair  was  the  joke  of  the  family]  if 
I  had  n't?  And  now  I  'm  going  up-stairs  to 
cry,  and  I  '11  be  down  in  three  minutes  to 
help  with  the  dishes  " ;  and  the  giddy  girl  flew 
into  the  house  and  disappeared. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  three  minutes 
which  Cassie  had  set  apart  as  sacred  to  her 
grief  she  reappeared,  sniffing  audibly,  but 
otherwise  cheerful. 

"  Now,  girls,  I  say,  let  us  buzz  through  the 
work  like  a  swarm  of  industrious  bumble- 
bees, and  then  go  down  to  the  creek  lots  and 
put  in  the  day  gathering  nuts.  Last  night, 
as  Ned  and  I  came  through  them,  the  nuts 
were  falling  like  hail,  and  we  can  pick  up  our 
winter's  supply  in  a  few  hours." 

This  was  favorably  received,  for  they  were 
all,  even  Rose,  children  enough  to  enjoy  a 
101 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

long  day  in  the  autumn  woods.  We  all  know 
that  willing  hands  make  light  work,  and  the 
morning's  task  was  quickly  done,  a  basket  of 
lunch  was  put  up,  and  the  girls,  with  the 


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baby,  were  soon  scampering  through  the 
meadow  toward  the  little  creek,  whose 
borders  for  miles  around  were  famous  for 
their  wealth  of  nuts. 

The  harvest  was  indeed  bountiful,  and 
they  worked   merrily  and  untiringly  until 
102 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED   THE  SPOONS 


bags  and  baskets  were  filled  and  deposited 
by  a  great  log,  where  their  brother  would 
next  day  find  them  and  cart  them  home. 
So  busy  and  happy  had  they  been  that  they 
could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  the  day 
had  ended  until  the 
woods  began  to  fill 
with  shadow^s  and 
the  baby  declared 
he  was  sleepy  and 
wanted  his  supper. 
"Who would  ever 
have  believed  it  so 
late?"  cried  Rose, 
peering  from  under 

the  low  boughs  toward  the  west.  "And  there 
are  all  those  cows  to  milk  and  the  chickens 
to  feed!  Come,  come,  girls,  not  another 
nut;  we  '11  have  to  go  home  at  once  if  we 
want  to  get  through  before  dark.  Cassie, 
you  are  the  quickest;  do  run  ahead  and  let 
the  bars  down,  and  get  the  pails  ready,  and 
I  '11  carry  the  baby— he  's  so  tired,  poor  little 
fellow,  he  can  hardly  stand.  Florence  can 
103 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

start  the  fire  and  begin  the  supper  while  you 

and  I  do  the  chores." 

Away  sped  the  light-footed  Cassie,  while 
the  others  made  such  haste  as  they  could 
with  the  tired  baby,  who  wept  in  a  self-pity- 
ing way  upon  Rose's  shoulder. 

"Oo  dirls  is  'tarvin'  me  an'  w^alkin'  me 
'most  to  pieces,  an'  I  want  my  mohver,"  he 
wailed  as  he  finally  dozed  off. 

Rose  laid  him  upon  the  lounge  in  the  cozy 
sitting-room,  and,  waiting  for  a  moment  to 
see  Florence  started  with  the  supper,  for 
which  they  were  all  ready,  hurried  away  to 
the  barn,  where  she  could  hear  Cassie 
whistling  and  talking  to  the  cows  as  she 
milked. 

Out  from  the  kitchen's  open  door  appetiz- 
ing odors  of  coffee  and  frying  ham  stole  to 
greet  the  two  girls  as  they  came  toward  the 
house  with  their  brimming  pails  of  frothy 
milk. 

"It  smells  good,"  said  Cassie,  "and  I  'm 
as  hungry  as  a  tramp—" 

"  Oh,  Cassie!  why  did  you  say  that?  I  've 
just  been  trying  not  to  think  about  tramps. 
104 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED    THE  SPOONS 


I  always  feel  creepy  when  I  'm  about  the 
barn  after  dark  anyway,  and  now—" 

"  Well,  my  saying  that  won't  bring  any 
along." 

105 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

**  They  are  positively  the  only  things  in  the 
world  that  I  'm  afraid  of." 

"Well,  then,  /  'm  not  afraid  of  them. 
And  suppose  one  should  come?  Surely 
three  great  stout  girls  ought  to  be  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves." 

*'0h,  Cassie  dear,  please  stop  talking 
about  them!  I  feel  as  if  one  were  step- 
ping on  my  heels.     Let 's  run." 

"  And  spill  the  milk?    Not  much." 

The  kitchen  looked  so  bright  and  cheery 
as  they  entered  it  that  Rose  seemed  to  leave 
her  fears  outside  with  the  duskiness,  and  by 
the  time  she  had  strained  the  milk  and  put 
it  away  she  had  forgotten  that  tramps 
existed. 

Cassie  had  gone  up-stairs  to  make  some 
needed  changes  in  her  toilet,  the  baby  had 
roused  from  a  short  nap  and  was  taking  a 
rather  mournful  interest  in  the  preparations 
for  supper,  when  Rose,  who  had  just  stopped 
to  ask  him  whether  he  would  rather  have 
honey  or  preserves,  heard  a  stealthy  step 
upon  the  porch.  A  moment  later  the  door 
was  pushed  slowly  open  and  a  man  walked  in. 
106 


mm 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Good  evening,  ladies!  Is  your  pa  at 
home?" 

"N-no,"  faltered  Rose,  trying  to  settle 
to  her  own  satisfaction  whether  this  dirty- 
looking  stranger  might  be  some  new  neigh- 
bor who  had  come  upon  legitimate  business 
or  whether  he  was  her  one  horror— a  tramp. 

''Any  of  your  big  brothers  in?"  with 
rather  a  jocular  manner. 

''  N-no,  sir." 

"  And  I  don't  see  any  bulldog  loafin' round," 
he  added. 

''  Our  dord  he  is  dead,"  explained  the  baby, 
solemnly. 

"  Well,  that 's  a  good  thing.  Will  the  old 
gentleman  be  in  soon?" 

''  I— I  don't  know— yes— I— I  hope  so.  Is 
there  any  message  you  would  like  to  leave 
for  him?" 

Before  the  man  could  answer  the  baby's 
voice  was  again  heard: 

"  My  fahver  he  's  dorn  orf." 

"Where  's  he  gone,  sonny?" 

"He  's  dorn  on  the  tars;  so  's  my  mohver; 
and  my  bid  brover  he  putted  yem  on,  and  he 
108 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED   THE  SPOONS 

won't  be  home  till  I  'm  asleep;  and  he  's  doin' 
to  brin'  me  a  drum  and  put  it  in  my  bed." 

Oh,  how  Rose  longed  to  shake  the  baby! 

"  Well,  then,  ladies,  since  you  are  likely  to 
be  alone,  I  think  I  '11  stay  and  keep  you  com- 
pany; and  since  you  press  me,  I  will  take  tea 
and  spend  the  evening.  Don't  go  to  any 
extra  work  for  me,  though;  it  all  looks  very 
nice.  I  'm  rather  hungry,  so  you  may  dish 
up  that  ham  at  once,  my  dear  "—this  to  poor 
Florence,  who  had  shrunk  almost  into  invisi- 
bility behind  the  stove-pipe,  and  who  seemed 
glued  to  the  spot.  ''  I  've  usually  a  very  fair 
appetite,  and  I  am  sure  I  will  relish  it." 

He  tossed  his  hat  down  beside  the  chair 
which  he  drew  up  to  the  table. 

With  the  light  falling  full  upon  his  dirty, 
insolent  face.  Rose  knew  that  her  greatest 
dread  was  before  her.  With  her  knees  al- 
most sinking  under  her,  she  started  toward 
the  stairs;  for  she  felt  that  she  must  let  the 
intrepid  Cassie  know  and  find  out  what  she 
advised. 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  dear?"  asked 
the  tramp,  suspiciously.  "  You  've  not  got 
109 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

any  big  cousin  or  uncle  or  anything  of  that 
kind  up-stairs  that  you  are  going  to  call  to 
tea,  have  you?" 

''  Oh,  no;  there  is  no  one  up-stairs  but  my 
poor  sister,"  she  managed  to  gasp.  She  could 
not  have  told  why  she  said  ''  poor  sister,"  un- 
less it  was  from  the  sense  of  calamity  which 
had  overtaken  them  all. 

"  In  that  case  be  spry,  for  I  'm  hungry,  and 
I  want  you  to  pour  out  my  tea  for  me.  I  like 
to  have  a  pretty  face  opposite  me  at  table." 

Rose  dragged  herself  up  the  narrow  in- 
closed stairs  and  into  Cassie's  room. 

"  Well,  Rose,  you  must  be  about  tuckered 
out.  You  come  up-stairs  as  if  you  were 
eighty,"  said  Cassie,  looking  up  from  the  shoe 
she  was  fastening.  "Why,  what  ails  you? 
You  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost!" 

"  Oh,  Cassie,  there  is  one  of  them  down- 
stairs!" came  in  a  whisper. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Rose  Bostwick?  A 
ghost  down-stairs!" 

"No— no— a  tramp." 

"Whew!"  and  Cassie  gave  a  low  whistle. 
"And  I  suppose  you  're  scared?" 
110 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED    THE  SPOONS 

"Oh,  Cassie,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  choking! 
Do  hurry  down;  he  may  be  killing  poor  little 
Florence  and  the  baby.  What  shall  we  do? 
The  baby  has  told  him  we  are  all  alone." 

"The  baby  ought  to  be  soundly  spanked 
for  that." 

"  What  can  we  do?     Try  to  think." 

Cassie  sat  swinging  the  button-hook  in 
her  hand  and  thinking  very  hard  and  fast. 

"Does  he  know  I  'm  here?" 

"Yes;  I've  told  him." 

"  Then  it  would  be  no  use  for  me  to  pre- 
tend to  be  Ned,"  thinking  aloud. 

"  I  'm  afraid  not." 

Another  silence,  dedicated  to  thought. 

"Rose?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  crazy.  I  'm  going  to 
chase  him  off  the  farm." 

"  Oh,  Cassie,  you  can't !  He 's  a  great  big 
impudent  wretch.  What  folly  to  talk  about 
chasing  him  off  the  farm!" 

"  It  's  our  only  chance." 

"  Don't  count  on  me.  /  can't  help  you. 
My  teeth  are  chattering  with  terror,  and  my 
111 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

legs  are  doubling  up  under  me  this  very 
minute.     I  could  n't  help  chase  a  fly." 

''You  can  scream,  I  s'pose?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  can  do  that." 

"  Well,  you  do  the  screaming,  and  I  '11  do 
the  chasing.  Rush  down-stairs,  and  scream 
and  scream,  and  bang  the  door  to,  and  just 
shriek,  'She  's  out— she  's  out!  She  's 
coming  down-stairs!'  And  you  '11  see  w^hat 
a  perfectly  beautiful  lunatic  I  will  be.  It 's 
a  good  thing  I  have  this  old  dress  on  and 
only  one  shoe.  Now  make  a  rush,  and 
scream." 

Rose's  overstrained  nerves  w^ere  her  best 
allies,  and  as  she  flew  down  the  stairs  it  was 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  her  to  give 
one  piercing  shriek  after  another.  They  re- 
sounded from  the  narrow  stairway  through 
the  kitchen,  and  for  the  moment  seemed  to 
paralyze  its  inmates.  As  she  burst  in  upon 
them,  Florence  was  transfixed  midway  of  the 
table  and  the  stove,  with  the  platter  of  ham 
in  her  hands,  the  baby  had  climbed  upon  a 
chair,  and  the  tramp  had  arisen  with  a  be- 
wildered air  from  the  table.  As  her  skirts 
112 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED    THE  SPOONS 


cleared  the  door,  she  turned  and  dashed  it 
shut,  and  flung  herself  against  it,  shrieking, 
*'  She  's  out!     She  's  out  of  her  room! " 

To  the  mystified  Florence  there  came  but 
one  solution  to  her  be- 
havior—fright had  over- 
thrown her  sister's  rea- 
son ;  and  with  a  wail  she 
rushed  toward  her,  cry- 
ing, "She  's  crazy!  Oh, 
she  's  crazy! 

"Who's  crazy?"  yelled 
the  tramp. 

The  baby, 
now  wildly 
terrified,  set 
up  a  loud 
we  eping, 
while  from 
the  stairway 
came  a  suc- 
cession     of 

blows  and  angry  demands  that  the  door  be 

opened.     A  moment  later  it  was  forced  ajar, 

and  a  head  crowned  with  a  mass  of  tossed 

113 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

hair  was  thrust  out,  and  quickly  followed 
by  a  hand  in  which  was  clutched  a  gun. 

''She  's  got  the  gun!     Oh,  Florence,  run 
to  the  baby!"  cried  Rose. 

"  Who  's  that? "  demanded  the  apparition, 
making  a  rush  toward  the  tramp. 

'*  Here,  keep  off!     Leave  me  alone! "  back- 
ing away,  and  warding  off  an  expected  blow. 

She  stood  before  him,  tall,  strong,  and 
agile. 

''  I  won't  leave  you  alone.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  locking  me  in  that  room?  I  'm  no 
more  crazy  than  you  are.  What 's  this?  "— 
as  she  stumbled  over  the  hat  which  the  tramp 
had  put  beside  the  chair  and  into  which  he 
had  deposited  the  silver  spoons  from  the 
table.  "Oh,  I  see;  you  are  all  in  league  to 
rob  me  of  my  gold  and  precious  stones!" 
And  catching  the  hat  up  on  the  muzzle  of  the 
gun,  she  gave  it  a  whirl  which  sent  the  spoons 
glittering  in  every  direction;  then,  advancing 
upon  him,  she  thrust  hat  and  gun  into  the 
face  of  the  horrified  man.  With  a  volley  of 
oaths,  he  sprang  backward,  upsetting  his 
chair  and  falling  over  it. 
114 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Oh,  don't  kill  him,  Cassie!  Don't  kill 
him!" 

"  We  '11  have  a  merry  time,"  gaily  dancing 
about  him,  and  prodding  him  sharply  with 
the  gun  as  he  tried  to  scramble  to  his  feet. 

"Keep  off  with  that  gun,  can't  you!"  he 
yelled.  "  Can't  you  hold  her,  you  screaming 
idiots?"  And  half  crawling,  half  pushed, 
he  gained  the  kitchen  door,  which  had  stood 
partly  open  since  he  had  entered. 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid? 
Don't  you  try  to  get  away,"  shouted  Cassie, 
as  she  lilted  lightly  after  him. 

The  tramp  stayed  not  to  answer  her  ques- 
tion nor  to  obey  her  command,  but  clearing 
the  door,  fled  wildly  away  through  the  dusk. 

"Here  's  your  hat;  I  '11  fire  it  after  you," 
she  called,  and  a  sharp  report  rang  out  on 
the  quiet  evening  air;  then  all  was  still. 

The  three  girls  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
door,  watching  the  dim  outline  fleeing  across 
the  meadow  in  the  direction  of  the  highway. 

"  He  '11  think  twice  before  inviting  himself 
to  supper  another  time,"  quietly  remarked 
Cassie,  with  a  satisfied  smile. 
116 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Oh,  Cassie  darling,  you  have  saved  our 
lives,"  cried  Florence,  flinging  her  arms 
around  her  sister. 

"I  don't  know  about  that;  but  I  've  saved 
the  spoons,  anyway.  There,  there,  baby," 
going  to  the  still  afllicted  boy;  "don't  cry 
any  more.  Sister  Cassie  was  just  making 
a  dirty  old  tramp  hop.  She  did  n't  really 
shoot  him;  she  was  just  playing  shoot." 

"Oh,  Cassie,  you  splendid,  brave  girl! 
How  did  you  ever  happen  to  think  to  go 
crazy?"  asked  Rose,  as  she  looked  over  her 
shoulder  from  the  door,  which  she  was 
barricading. 

"  Well,  I  knew  something  had  to  be  done, 
and  that  just  popped  into  my  mind.  I  was 
doing  Ophelia  the  other  day  up  in  my  room, 
so  I  was  in  practice;  and  did  n't  I  make  a 
sweetly  pensive  maniac?  Now  I  hope  you 
girls  ^^^ll  never  again  make  disrespectful 
comments  upon  any  little  private  theatricals 
of  mine.  If  I  had  never  cultivated  my 
dramatic  talents,  what  would  have  become 
of  you,  I  M  like  to  know?" 

It  was  some  time  before  the  tidal  wave  of 
118 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED   THE  SPOONS 

excitement  subsided  sufficiently  for  the  girls 
to  settle  down  for  the  evening  or  for  the 
baby  to  go  to  sleep.     Again  and  again  they 


thought  they  heard  footsteps;  and  although 

the  door  was  locked  and  double-locked,  they 

119 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

drew  up  into  battle  line  whenever  the  autumn 
wind  shook  down  a  shower  of  leaves  upon  the 
roof. 

Just  as  the  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of 
eight  a  pleasant  sound  came  fitfully  to  them. 
It  was  a  softly  whistled  tune,  and  the  cheery 
cadence  told  of  a  mind  free  from  unpleasant 
doubts  of  welcome. 

"Surely  that  can't  be  Ned  back  already; 
he  was  n't  to  start  home  until  nine,"  said 
Rose,  going  to  the  window  and  cautiously 
peeping  from  under  the  curtain. 

"Right  you  are  there,  sister  Rose,"  as- 
sented Cassie.  "  It  surely  can't  be,  especial- 
ly as  Ned  could  no  more  whistle  'Match- 
ing through  Georgia '  than  you  could  have 
done  the  marching.  It  sounds  uncommonly 
like  young  Farmer  Dunscomb's  whistle  to 
me." 

"  Well,  whoever  it  is,  I  am  deeply  thank- 
ful that  somebody  besides  a  tramp  is  com- 
ing," interrupted  Florence. 

"And  so  am  I,"  demurely  agreed  Rose. 
**Do  go  to  the  door,  Cassie,  and  peep  out, 
120 


HOW  CASSIE  SAVED   THE  SPOONS 

and  make  sure  that  it  is  n't  that  dreadful 
creature  coming  back." 

"Are  you  a  dreadful  creature  coming  to 
murder  us  all?"  demanded  Cassie  of  the 
whistler,  setting  the  door  slightly  ajar,  and 
thrusting  her  head  out. 

"  Well,  I  don't  go  round  giving  myself  out 
as  a  dreadful  creature,"  responded  a  jolly 
voice  from  the  porch.  ''Hello!  What  's 
this  I  'm  breaking  my  neck  over?"  as  the 
owner  of  the  voice  tripped  upon  an  old  slouch- 
hat. 

"  Bring  that  article  of  wearing  apparel  to 
me,  if  you  please,"  requested  Cassie,  as  she 
opened  the  door,  letting  a  flood  of  light  out 
upon  the  visitor.  "  That  is  a  little  token  of 
remembrance  which  I  wish  to  keep.  There ! " 
holding  the  hat  out  at  arm's-length.  "  I  have 
long  wanted  a  gilt  toasting-fork  or  rolling- 
pin,  or  something  artistic,  for  my  room;  now 
I  shall  embroider  these  shot-holes,  and  gild 
the  brim,  and  hang  it  up  by  long  blue  rib- 
bons just  where  my  waking  orbs  can  rest 
upon  it  as  they  open  in  the  morning.  Ah, 
121 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

this  hat  will  ever  have  stirring  memories  for 
me,  friend  George,"  eying  the  young  man 
dramatically. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  burst 
into  a  hearty  laugh.     ''  Is  she  crazy,  Rose?  " 

"  Yes;  she  's  the  dearest  and  bravest  luna- 
tic in  the  world,  George,"'  answered  Rose. 


122 


A  STRANGE  STORY:  THE  LOST  YEARS 

BY 

Lizzie  Hyer  Neff 


A  STRANGE  STORY:  THE  LOST  YEARS 


WHETHER  or  not  to  relate  the  history 
that  I  now  commence  has  been  to  me 
a  seriously  debated  question.  But  after  due 
rerfection  I  decide  that,  being  the  only  wit- 
ness to  the  events  that  have  lately  been  so 
startling  to  at  least  one  community,  it  is  my 
duty  to  state  as  clearly  and  exactly  as  pos- 
sible, while  yet  fresh  in  my  memory,  the 
occurrences  that  came  under  my  observation. 
I  am  satisfied,  in  so  doing,  that  the  contin- 
gencies which  might  arise  from  my  silence 
would  be  much  more  serious  in  their  effect 
upon  my  friends  than  their  aversion  to  the 
publicity  to  which  they  may  be  subjected; 
but  of  course,  when  completed,  my  state- 
125 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

ment  will  be  subject  to  their  wish  in  its  dis- 
posal. 

Regarding  myself,  it  is  only  necessary  to 
state  that  last  winter,  I  think  it  was  the  last 
week  in  January,  my  health  became  so  alarm- 
ing as  to  induce  me  to  accept  my  son's  urgent 
invitation  to  visit  him  in  a  far  Western  Ter- 
ritory, hoping  that  the  brighter  sky  and 
milder  air  would  more  than  compensate  for 
the  long  and  lonely  journey  to  one  who  is 
neither  young  nor  adventurous. 

And  the  effect  of  the  change  was  almost 
magical.  My  son  is  a  civil  and  mining  en- 
gineer, and,  being  unmarried,  boards  at  the 
largest  of  the  three  hotels  in  the  busy  min- 
ing town  upon  the  Southern  Pacific  road 
which  I  shall  call  Brownville. 

I  reached  the  place  on  the  afternoon  of  a 
bright,  balmy  day— a  May  day,  it  seemed  to 
me;  but  being  an  unaccustomed  traveler,  the 
motion  of  the  cars  and  the  strangeness  of  the 
transition  gave  everything  such  a  dream-like 
unreality  that  I  cannot  recall  the  impressions 
of  the  first  few  days  with  as  much  distinct- 
ness as  later  ones.  I  was  continually  ex- 
12G 


A   STRANGE  STORY:    THE  LOST  YEARS 

pecting  my  son  to  vanish  and  myself  to  wake 
up  in  my  room  at  home.  This  soon  wore  off, 
however.  I  think  it  was  on  the  second  day 
after  my  arrival,  as  we  were  starting  down- 
stairs to  dinner,  my  son  suddenly  drew  me 
back  into  my  room,  as  if  to  avoid  some  one 
who  was  passing. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  startled,"  he 
explained.  "  I  was  at  first,  and  I  am  neither 
sick  nor  a  woman.  Mother,  there  is  a  young 
man  here  who  will  seem  like  one  risen  from 
the  dead  to  you  at  first  sight.  He  looks 
enough  like  Chester  Mansfield  to  be  his  twin 
brother;  I  think  I  never  saw  so  striking  a 
resemblance  before;  but  after  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  him  the  impression  will  wear 
away,  because  he  is  so  different  in  every 
other  way." 

Then  we  went  down-stairs,  and  meeting 
the  young  man  at  the  dining-room  door, 
my  son  introduced  him  as  "  Mr.  Reynolds," 
and  thus  began  my  acquaintance  with 
him.  Of  course,  after  my  son's  caution- 
ary remarks,  I  noticed  him  closely,  but  I 
should  have  done  so  anyhow,  I  am  sure,  for 
127 


i 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

the  resemblance  to  the  dead  was  so  strong 
as  to  give  me  a  very  strange  feeling;  for 
Chester  Mansfield  had  been  only  less  dear  to 
me  than  my  own  son.  But,  as  Howard  had 
said,  the  resemblance  seemed  to  wear  away 
somewhat  as  I  talked  with  him,  and  I  began 
to  wonder  that  I  had  felt  it  so  much.  This 
young  man  was  older,  stouter,  and  many 
shades  darker  in  complexion  than  my  friend. 
His  manner,  speech,  and  style  of  dress  were 
wholly  unlike  those  of  the  dead  Chester,  al- 
though his  voice,  while  deeper,  was  very 
similar.  He  was  attached  to  the  hotel  in 
some  capacity,  and  went  out  with  us  to  din- 
ner after  a  moment's  talk;  and  I  found  him 
to  be  a  pleasant  talker,  with  a  ready  fund  of 
the  slang  which  seems  to  be  the  evolving 
language  of  the  far  West,  and  a  very  witty 
use  of  it;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  well  in- 
formed on  any  subject  that  I  could  mention 
—a  strong  contrast  to  the  scholarship  of  the 
dead  man  whose  face  he  bore. 

Yet  he  had  an  unmistakable  air  of  good 
breeding  and  even  of  intelligence,  although 
it  was  impossible  to  draw  him  into  a  con- 
129 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

nected  conversation.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
popular  in  the  house. 

Howard  was  closely  engaged  in  his  work^ 
which  sometimes  kept  him  away  for  a  week 
at  a  time,  and  I  had  neither  the  strength  nor 
courage  to  go  very  far  from  the  house  alone 
through  that  odd,  rushing,  foreign-looking 
town,  so  I  had  much  time  to  myself.  I  was. 
the  only  woman  at  the  house,  except  the 
proprietor's  wife  and  one  Irish  chamber- 
maid. This,  perhaps,  would  account  for 
my  interest  in  the  young  man,  for  I  must 
confess  that  he  occupied  my  thoughts  a  good 
deal  during  those  first  weeks.  One  Sabbath 
afternoon  I  saw  him  going  away  with  a  party 
of  friends,— stylishly  dressed,  hard-looking 
men,— and  I  turned  and  spoke  to  Howard  of 
the  idea  that  I  had  formed  of  him. 

"  I  have  thought  of  the  same  thing  myself, 
mother,"  he  replied.  "  That  fellow  is  of  East- 
ern origin,  and  he  is  well  brought  up,  in  spite 
of  his  efforts  to  conceal  it;  and  you  can't  get 
a  word  out  of  him  about  his  past;  I  Ve  tried 
a  dozen  times.  I  'm  positive  that  he  puts  on 
ignorance,  a  good  many  times,  just  as  a  blind. 
130 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

There 's  a  good  deal  of  that  here— men  who 
have  forgotten  all  about  the  East,  you  un- 
derstand, and  who  have  new  names,  and 
who  don't  write  home  by  every  mail.  Now, 
were  n't  there  other  Mansfield  boys  besides 
Chester?  His  mother  was  a  second  wife, 
w^as  n't  she,  and  there  was  another  family, 
who  lived  with  their  grandmother?" 

"  Why,  certainly  there  w^as! "  I  exclaimed^ 
catching  at  the  idea.  "  Three  boys,  and  two 
of  them  went  out  to  Denver,  or  somewhere 
in  that  region.  Now  I  have  it;  that 's  just 
who  he  is.  I  wonder  what  crime  he  has 
committed— robbery  or  perhaps  murder? 
Who  knows?" 

"Oh,  no!  Take  care;  not  quite  so  fast, 
mother.  But  I  have  a  little  clue  that  nobody 
else  has  had  the  interest  to  notice.  It  is 
more  than  mere  coincidence.  Of  course 
Dr.  Mansfield's  sons  would  be  brought  up  in 
the  deepest  piety;  and  when  this  fellow  gets 
drunk— you  '11  hear  him  some  night— he  's 
terribly  pious:  prays  and  sings  half  the  night 
to  himself— old  church  hymns  that  were 
never  heard  in  this  place.  And  the  thing 
131 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

that  I  notice  is  this:  he  prays  like  one  who 
was  brought  up  to  it,  not  like  some  reprobate 
who  has  been  scared  into  piety.  I  Ve  heard 
them  a  few  times,  too,  and  I  know  the 
difference.  Now,  that  means  a  little;  and 
when  you  put  it  with  the  company  he  keeps, 
especially  with  Crouch,  his  chum,— that 
black-looking  fellow  who  was  shooting  at  the 
target  out  there  this  morning,— don't  you 
see  it  grows  quite  interesting?" 

"  I  should  think  it  does.  Why,  it  is  per- 
fectly certain  that  he  is  a  desperate  sort  of 
person.  I  wonder  what  he  has  done?  It 
could  n't  be  the  Cleveland  fur  robbery,  I  sup- 
pose," I  said. 

Howard  got  up  and  shook  himself,  and 
then  laughed  uproariously.  "No;  but  he 
might  be  the  Rahway  murderer.  You  'd 
better  lock  the  door  fast  and  tight  at 
night."  (This  was  a  stab  at  my  well-known 
cowardice.)  "  And,  little  mother,  if  you  think 
you  have  got  hold  of  a  delightful,  bloody 
mystery,  for  the  love  of  heaven  keep  still 
about  it.  A  little  talk  will  set  a  cyclone 
going,  if  you  are  not  particular." 
132 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

I  resented  this  caution  as  quite  unneces- 
sary; but  Howard  laughed  and  shook  his 


finger  at  me.     I  think  he  is  at  that  age 

when  "a  young  man  feels  his  physical  and 

political  superiority  over  his  mother  very 

133 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

fully.  After  he  had  gone  out  I  sat  think- 
ing over  his  new  idea.  I  had  a  faint  suspi- 
cion that  Howard  was  amusing  himself  at  my 
interest  in  the  matter  and  was  starting  me 
in  pursuit  of  something  that  he  knew  per- 
fectly well  beforehand;  yet  every  word  that 
he  had  said  was  fastened  in  my  memory,  and 
many  little  unnoticed  things  now  came  up  to 
strengthen  my  suspicions. 

In  Crouch,  the  evil-looking  fellow^,  I  had  no 
interest,  for  he  was  not  mysterious.  He  was 
a  rascal  at  the  first  glance,  and  could  not 
be  anything  else;  and  he  w^as  the  sort  of 
rascal  that  one  is  content  not  to  investi- 
gate, but  observe  at  the  greatest  possible 
distance. 

What,  then,  was  young  Reynolds's  interest 
in  him?  I  intended  to  \wite  home  the  next 
day  to  ask  about  the  Mansfield  brothers;  but 
Howard  carried  me  off  to  the  mines  to  camp 
for  a  few  days,  and  my  thoughts  were  turned 
in  a  new  direction. 

The  day  after  my  return  I  went  out  for  a 
walk  through  the  town.  I  crossed  the  plaza, 
and  went  down  one  of  the  diverging  streets, 
134 


A  STRANGE  STORY:    THE  LOST  YEARS 

when  I  suddenly  found  myself  in  a  most  un- 
savory neighborhood,  and  suspected  that  I 
must  have  crossed  the  "  dead-line,"  beyond 
which  I  had  been  told  no  white  woman  ever 
ventured.  I  turned  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat, 
when  I  heard  my  name,  and  looking  up  saw 
Charlie  Reynolds,  apparently  very  drunk, 
issuing  from  the  door  of  a  dance  saloon. 
One  or  two  of  his  friends  were  sitting  in  the 
doorway.  "  Good  evening,  Mish  Spencer,"  he 
said,  with  an  aggravated  bow.  "  Thish  bad 
place  for  lady.  See  you  home,  Mish  Spencer?  " 

"  No,"  I  said; ''  yoU  can't  see  me  home,  but 
I  will  see  you  home.  You  walk  on  before  me, 
and  I  will  follow." 

To  my  surprise,  he  obeyed;  and  across  the 
plaza  and  down  the  street  of  adobe  houses 
I  steered  my  drunken  companion  until  I  saw 
him  safe  within  the  doors  of  the  El  Dorado 
House,  where  I  was  assured  that  he  would  be 
put  to  bed. 

That  night  my  son  was  detained  at  the 

mines,  and  I  sat  at  my  window  alone  in  the 

marvelous  moonlight,  so  clear,  so  brilliant, 

in  that  rarefied  atmosphere,  that  I  could  see 

135 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

the  round  blue  lines  of  the  mountains  in 
Mexico,  sixty  miles  away.  Sounds  from 
different  parts  of  the  town  came  up  with 
startling  distinctness;  I  could  distinguish 
every  word  of  sentences  spoken  two  squares 
away,  and  the  barking  of  coyotes  out  in  the 
mesquit  brush  that  surrounded  the  town 
seemed  to  come  from  under  my  window.  I 
seemed  to  be  far  from  the  rest  of  the  earth, 
on  some  desolate  peak  that  stood  in  vast  soli- 
tude; for  the  stars  were  so  large  and  bright 
and  the  great  glowing  moon  seemed  to  hang 
just  overhead. 

There  were  no  trees  on  the  great  blue 
mountains,  no  grass  in  the  stony  valley;  and 
I  realized,  in  their  absence,  how  much  we  owe 
to  the  mission  of  the  green  and  growing. 
There  was  no  sense  of  companionship  in  the 
babel  of  sounds  and  languages  that  came  up 
from  the  wicked  little  town.  I  am  afraid 
that  a  few  homesick  tears  came  to  my  eyes. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  grand  old  hymns  of 

my  church  struck  the  intense  air;  a  clear, 

strong,  manly  voice.  How  familiar  it  sounded, 

ringing  out  alone!     I  sat  spellbound;  for  it 

136 


A   STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

was,  as  my  son  had  said,  not  the  effort  of  a 
tyro,  but  the  cultivated  voice  of  a  cultivated 
man.  Coming  just  at  this  moment  in  the 
grandly  solemn  night,  its  effect  upon  me  was 
indescribable;  and  a  new  thought  flashed  into 
my  mind,  which,  I  am  ashamed  to  confess,  was 
not  there  before:  ''Why  cannot  this  young 
man,  whatever  he  may  have  done,  be  saved 
through  this  early  training?"  I  could  not 
sleep  for  this  thought,  and  waited  impa- 
tiently for  the  morning,  resolved  to  under- 
take some  missionary  work  in  behalf  of 
Charlie  Reynolds. 

II 

The  Chester  Mansfield  to  whom  I  have  re- 
ferred was  the  young  minister  of  my  church, 
and  also  the  son  of  my  dearest  friend.  Mrs. 
Mansfield  had  been  my  playmate  and  school- 
mate in  childhood,  my  confidante  in  girlhood, 
and  when  we  were  matrons  and  neighbors  our 
early  affection  had  settled  into  the  deep,  en- 
during friendship  of  later  life.  She  had  mar- 
ried our  minister,  and  was  an  exemplary  wife 
and  mother.  Our  children  were  schoolmates 
137 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

also,  and  her  only  son,  Chester,  was  a  boy  of 
unusual  promise.  He  distinguished  himself 
in  school  and  college,  and,  finishing  his 
course  just  before  his  father's  death,  was 
unanimously  called  to  fill  the  vacant  pulpit. 
Here  his  eloquence  and  spirituality  fully 
justified  the  promise  of  his  youth,  and  he 
became  almost  the  idol  of  his  congregation. 
He  married  a  lovely  girl,  and  life  seemed  to 
hold  for  him  the  highest  blessings  that  man 
can  dream  of. 

The  sorrow,  then,  of  his  sudden  and 
peculiarly  sad  death  cannot  be  described. 
Not  only  his  family  and  church,  but  the 
whole  town,  mourned  as  if  for  a  brother, 
and  the  church  could  not  hold  the  concourse 
that  followed  his  body  to  the  grave. 

The  mother  and  sisters  and  the  frail  young 
wife  were  almost  crushed  by  the  blow,  and 
even  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  five  years  it 
was  fresh  enough  in  my  heart  to  make 
Charlie  Reynolds's  face  bring  back  those 
days  of  mourning  with  sad  reality.  I  formed 
then  the  hope,  foolish,  perhaps,  that  if  this 
young  man  should  be  found  to  be  a  relative  of 
138 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

the  dead  man,  and  be  reclaimed,  he  might  in 
some  measure  atone  to  those  bereaved  ones 
for  their  loss.     With  this  idea  I  improved 


every  opportunity  to  cultivate  Charlie  Reyn- 
olds's acquaintance  and  win  his  good  opin- 
ion, although  I  was  much  embarrassed  by 
139 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

the  laughing  eyes  that  Howard  never  failed  to 
turn  upon  me  in  my  efforts  at  conversation. 

They  were  efforts  indeed;  for  if  I  had  come 
from  a  foreign  land  and  spoken  an  unknown 
language,  I  could  hardly  have  had  more  diffi- 
culty in  finding  a  topic  of  common  interest 
or  in  making  myself  intelligible,  for  old- 
fashioned  English  seemed  to  be  less  under- 
stood than  any  other  of  the  numerous 
tongues  I  heard.  I  could  hear  from  my  win- 
dow Mexicans,  Chinamen,  Indians,  French- 
men, and  Spaniards  chatting  in  the  plaza, 
until  I  could  almost  guess  what  they  said; 
but  the  vernacular  of  the  American  miner 
and  rancher  is  beyond  comprehension. 

There  are  about  four  topics  discussed  at 
the  El  Dorado  tables,  chief  of  all,  the  mines; 
and  to  this  day  I  cannot  talk  coherently  about 
drifts  and  leads  and  dumps  and  the  like.  Then 
there  were  the  games,  the  most  absorbing  of 
all— who  had  lost  and  won;  and  as  I  don't 
know  one  card  or  one  game  from  another,  I 
am  not  interested  in  that  subject.  There 
was,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  fresh  murder  or 
robbery  or  Indian  fight  to  discuss  every 
140 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

morning  at  breakfast;  and  the  ranch  talk, 
in  which  my  most  intelligent  questions  al- 
ways provoked  a  shout  of  laughter.  When 
I  quoted  Talmage  one  morning,  a  young  man 
looked  at  me  pityingly,  and  said:  "Oh,  he 's 
dead  a  year  ago!  He  had  one  of  the  finest 
saloons  in  Las  Vegas.  He  was  a  smart  man, 
poor  fellow!"  My  attempts  to  interest  my 
table  companions  in  a  description  of  the 
Chautauqua  and  its  purpose,  and  the  mis- 
sion of  the  Women's  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  and  their  painful  efforts  to  be  politely 
interested,  almost  sent  my  son  into  convul- 
sions in  consequence  of  laughing  into  his 
coffee-cup ;  and  the  intense  earnestness  with 
which  the  man  they  called  Bunco  Brown 
asked,  "And  did  n't  they  sell  no  booze 
there?"  and  then,  "Well,  then,  how  in 
thunder  do  they  get  it,  if  they  are  too 
pious  to  steal?"  might  have  seemed  amus- 
ing to  one  who  was  not  struck  by  the  horror 
of  the  fact  that  the  man  could  not  conceive 
of  life  for  any  person  without  drink. 

So,  owing"  to  the  missionary's  usual  diffi- 
culty in  making  himself  understood,  I  had 
141 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

to  wait  to  learn  a  means  of  communication 
with  my  subject.  I  even  ventured  to  the 
door  of  the  billiard-room  and  tried  to  mani- 
fest an  interest  in  the  science  of  the  game; 
but  here  also  I  was  too  hopelessly  old-fash- 
ioned to  be  able  to  comprehend  the  beauty  of 
the  angles,  and  beat  an  ignominious  retreat. 
I  heard  Charlie  remark  as  I  went  up-stairs, 
"  Game  for  such  a  pious  old  lady,  is  n't  she?  " 
I  took  it  as  a  compliment. 

But  my  opportunity  finally  came  through 
the  humble  instrumentality  of  an  onion.  It 
was  about  the  size  of  a  dinner-plate,  and  lay 
on  the  newel-post  as  I  came  down-stairs  one 
morning.  Charlie  was  standing  in  the  front 
door,  with  his  back  to  me,  peeling  an  orange. 
He  turned  around  at  my  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, and  asked,  "  Why,  don't  they  grow  like 
that  where  you  live? " 

"  In  New  England  ?  Oh  dear,  no ! "  I  cried. 
And  then  he  asked  me  a  number  of  ques- 
tions, and  seemed  very  much  interested  in 
my  account  of  vegetables  and  fruit  and 
trees  and  flowers  in  the  East.  I  was  de- 
lighted to  tell  him,  although  I  had  a  lurking 
142 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

suspicion  that  such  a  remarkable  ignorance 
of  that  country  was  feigned;  and  yet  his 
eyes,  so  wonderfully  like  Chester  Mansfield's 
except  in  expression,  had  a  certain  vacant 
honesty— for  which,  I  presume,  an  accus- 
tomed story-teller  could  find  a  better  expres- 
sion—that I  was  obliged  to  believe  genuine. 
As  soon  as  he  found  that  I  was  curious  about 
the  flora  and  fauna  of  the  locality,  he  took 
great  pains  in  bringing  me  specimens,  and 
on  two  occasions  took  me  out  for  a  walk  to 
see  something  that  could  not  be  brought. 
In  this  closer  acquaintance  I  found  so  much 
that  was  kind  and  pleasant,  and  so  many 
peculiar  little  resemblances  to  my  dead 
friend,— a  backward  toss  of  the  head  when 
he  laughed,  a  frown  when  listening,  an  odd 
little  gesture  with  the  left  hand  in  explain- 
ing anything,— that  he  puzzled  me  more  and 
more.  Among  the  few  books  that  I  could 
find  to  read  in  the  town  was  "  The  Woman  in 
White,"  which  I  read  with  compunction,  not 
having  been  addicted  to  works  of  fiction;  and 
the  curious  resemblance  between  the  two 
women  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me, 
144 


A  STRANGE  STORY:  THE  LOST  YEARS 

and  seemed  to  have  a  strange  significance 
just  at  this  time.  Although  I  had  as  yet  not 
succeeded  in  drawing  any  confidence  from 
Charlie,  who,  indeed,  seldom  spoke  of  him- 
self and  never  related  any  past  experience, 
—a  very  suspicious  trait,  I  thought,— I  felt 
sure  that  time  would  unravel  the  dark  mys- 
tery that  enveloped  him. 

Just  as  I  was  feeling  that  I  had  now  Char- 
lie's friendship,  the  man  Crouch  seemed  to 
become  jealous  of  my  influence,  and  became 
so  attentive  to  him  that  my  acquaintance 
with  him  was  virtually  suspended  for  a  time. 
One  day,  a  bright,  hot  day  in  March,  a  Mexi- 
can wagon-train  arrived  in  town,  laden  with 
beans,  hides,  and  chilli  Colorado,  and  a  crowd 
of  rancheros  from  another  direction  sw^armed 
into  the  plaza.  The  town  was  full  of  excite- 
ment and  whisky;  the  tinkle  of  the  dance  sa- 
loons came  up  from  all  quarters;  the  ranch- 
eros, with  their  red  shirts  and  broad  hats, 
galloped  their  tough  mustangs  madly  through 
the  streets,  firing  at  random,  and  lassoing  the 
unlucky  curs  and  pigs  that  happened  to  be 
in  the  way;  while  there  were  street  brawls 
145 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

at  every  corner.  I  hardly  dared  to  leave  my 
room,  and  I  could  not  venture  to  sit  by  my 
window.  It  was  a  great  relief  that  Howard 
came  in  very  early.  All  through  the  evening 
I  listened  to  the  confused  sounds  tjiat  came 
up  through  the  resonant  air,  and  could  dis- 
tinguish the  soft  voice  of  the  pretty  Mexican 
girl  in  the  saloon  opposite  my  window,  accom- 
panied by  her  castanet.  It  was  another  of 
those  still,  white  nights  when  the  town 
seemed  to  hang  in  mid-air.  I  felt  the  pre- 
monition of  impending  disaster  so  common 
to  nervous  women,  and  made  Howard  sit  in 
my  room  as  long  as  I  could  think  of  a  pretext 
for  keeping  him.  When  I  was  alone  I  lay 
wakeful  through  the  noisy  hours,  waiting  for 
daylight.  At  perhaps  three  o'clock,  or  a 
little  later,  I  fell  into  a  semiconscious  doze, 
from  which  I  was  aroused  by  the  footsteps 
and  low  voices  of  men  in  the  hall.  The  slow- 
ness of  the  steps  and  the  hushed  tone  in 
which  they  spoke  gave  me  a  thrill  of  terror. 
Something  had  happened.  Yes;  they  were 
talking  about  it,  and  carrying  something — 
some  one— by.  "  Right  this  way ;  lay  him  on 
146 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

the  bed."  "What -doctor?"  "Pretty  near 
dead."  "Small  chance,"— and  so  on.  Then 
with  strained  nerves  I  listened  for  the  doc- 
tor, heard  him  come,  heard  his  quick  direc- 
tions, heard  the  running  to  and  fro  to  get 
what  he  required,  and  then  arose  and  dressed 
myself  with  trembling  hands,  unable  to  bear 
the  tension  any  longer,  and  thinking  that  I 
might  be  of  assistance.  I  went  to  Howard's 
door,  aroused  him,  and  sent  him  to  learn 
what  was  the  matter.  He  went  a  little  re- 
luctantly, but  returned  wide  awake. 

"Why,  it 's  Charlie  Reynolds,  poor  fellow! 
I  guess  he  's  about  killed— some  row,  I  sup- 
pose; did  n't  wait  to  find  out.  The  doctor  is 
attending  to  him  now." 

A  little  later,  in  the  gray,  solemn  dawn,  the 
doctor  came  out  of  the  room  in  which  Charlie 
had  been  laid,  and  I  went  to  learn  the  worst. 
I  knew  now  that  I  had  grown  very  fond  of 
the  young  man,  and  I  could  see  that  Howard 
liked  him,  too. 

Ill 

The  doctor  looked  at  me  curiously. 
"  He  is  pretty  badly  hurt,  but  I  think  that 
147 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

he  will  pull  through.  I  don't  suppose  it  makes 
any  particular  difference  to  him  or  anybody- 
else  whether  he  does  or  not,"  he  said,  brush- 
ing his  hat  with  his  coat-sleeve. 

''Why  not?"  I  demanded. 

"  Why,  because  he  will  only  pull  through 
this  to  get  killed  in  some  other  scrape,  and 
before  he  can  get  into  anything  else  he  will 
have  to  answer  for  this  one.  You  know  how 
he  was  hurt?" 

"No;  I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  He  robbed  a  fellow  in  the  night,  and  the 
man  chased  him  and  shot  him,  and  finding 
that  he  still  ran,  knocked  him  down  with  the 
butt  end  of  his  pistol— threw  it  at  him.  That 
is  the  worst  hurt  he  had;  and  he  is  an  old 
customer,  for  this  blow  opened  an  old  place. 
It  is  n't  the  first  time  he  has  been  caught. 
I  've  just  trepanned  it— quite  a  serious 
operation  under  the  circumstances." 

"  And  the  pistol  wounds?" 

"  Nothing  but  scratches ;  they  won't  hurt." 

''Well,  he  is  a  human  creature,  with  an 
immortal  soul,  and  I  shall  take  care  of  him 
anyhow.  There  is  nobody  else  to  do  it,  so  I 
148 


A   STRANGE  STORY:    THE  LOST  YEARS 

intend  to,"  I  said,  as  calmly  as  I  could  after 
all  this  terrible  information,  which  had 
shaken  me  none  the  less  for  the  doctor's 
indifferent  tone  and  manner. 

"Very  well,  ma'am;  I  wish  you  success. 
There  's  nothing  to  do  now  but  keep  him 
quiet  until  I  come  back  after  breakfast." 

I  walked  in  alone,  and  looked  at  the  still, 
white  face  under  the  bandages.  He  was 
evidently  under  the  influence  of  a  heavy 
opiate,  for  there  was  no  sign  of  life  except 
the  faint  breathing. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  a  great  pity  for 
the  young  man,  so  friendless  and  so  indiffer- 
ently regarded,  and  with  such  a  future  to 
look  forward  to  on  his  recovery.  No  clue 
could  be  found  to  his  past  or  his  family,  if 
he  had  any. 

I  took  it  as  more  than  mere  accident  that 
he  had  fallen  thus  helpless  and  suff:'ering  into 
my  hands,  and  resolved  to  use  to  the  utmost 
my  skill  and  influence  for  the  best. 

He  lay  for  a  good  many  days— I  cannot 
tell  just  how  many— in  a  comatose  condi- 
tion, and  I  did  not  for  a  moment  relax  my 
149 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

watch,  except  to  take  a  little  rest  now  and 
then.   At  length  there  began  to  be  signs  of  re- 


turning consciousness.     The  dull  eyes  would 

open  and  gaze  vacantly  around  the  room. 

150 


A  STRANGE  STORY:  THE  LOST  YEARS 

He  could  utter  a  few  incoherent  words,  and 
the  hands  groped  in  a  troubled  way  among 
the  bedclothes.  And  day  by  day,  as  the 
bronze  tint  of  the  skin  disappeared  and  the 
features  grew  clearer  and  thinner,  that 
marvelous  likeness  grew  stronger,  until, 
looking  at  him,  I  rubbed  my  eyes  some- 
times and  believed  myself  the  victim  of  an 
hallucination. 

One  morning,  at  length,  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  me  with  a  new  intelli- 
gence, an  attentiveness  that  I  had  never 
seen  in  him  before. 

As  he  lay  there  with  bright,  open  eyes,  the 
likeness  was  simply  intolerable  as  I  thought 
of  the  career  that  he  represented.  I  busied 
myself  in  bringing  the  basin  of  water  and 
sponge  to  bathe  his  face  and  hands.  He  was 
evidently  trying  to  recall  the  circumstances 
of  his  injury  and  account  for  his  presence 
there,  for  he  looked  in  turn  at  me  and  the 
room,  and  then  at  the  bed  in  which  he  lay. 

"Mrs.  Spencer,  I  cannot  think  how  you 
come  to  be  here.     Was  I  much  hurt?" 

"  Yes;  you  were  pretty  badly  hurt;  but  you 
151 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

will  soon  be  all  right  now  if  you  keep  quiet. 
Don't  move  your  head.  I  will  wash  your 
hands  now." 

He  closed  his  eyes  as  if  weary  with  even 
the  effort  he  had  made,  and  soon  fell  asleep 
as  naturally  as  a  child. 

Later  in  the  day  he  awoke  and  seemed 
strange.  He  looked  at  me  with  the  same 
puzzled  expression.  I  w^as  heating  some 
drink  for  him  over  the  spirit-lamp,  when  he 
spoke  in  a  strangely  familiar  voice,  although 
very  weak. 

"  Mrs.  Spencer,  has  anything  happened  at 
home,  that  you  have  come  to  me,  and  not 
mother?  I  had  a  letter  from  mother  yester- 
day, and  all  were  well.  Was  the  accident 
very  fatal ? " 

I  dropped  the  cup  that  I  was  holding;  my 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating;  for  the  white, 
serious  face  on  the  pillow  was  not  that  of 
Charlie  Reynolds,  but  Chester  Mansfield!  I 
ran  out  of  the  room,  down  the  hall,  and  into 
my  own  room.  I  had  no  motive  in  doing  so, 
because  I  was  too  much  startled  and,  I  think^ 
terrified  for  thought. 

152 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

My  first  collected  idea  was  that  I  had 
dwelt  upon  the  subject  so  much  during 
lonely  days  and  nights  of  vigil  that  I  was 
now  a  victim  of  subjective  vision;  I  was  for 
the  moment  insane  upon  that  subject.  I 
sent  for  the  doctor  immediately,  and  after 
bathing  my  face  and  trying  to  steady  my 
quivering  nerves  returned  to  my  patient, 
whom  I  was  afraid  I  might  have  shocked  by 
my  sudden  exit.  He  looked  surprised,  and 
watched  me  curiously. 

"I  think  you  had  better  not  talk  any 
more;  the  doctor  says  you  must  be  kept 
quiet,"  and  I  busied  my  hands  in  smoothing 
down  the  bedclothes. 

"  I  will  be  quiet;  but  you  must  tell  me  one 
or  two  things.  Are  they  all  well  at  home— 
Lucia  and  mother  and  the  girls?  and  how 
many  were  hurt  in  the  accident?" 

"  They  are  all  well  at  home.  I  am  visiting 
here,"  I  managed  to  answer;  and  he  turned 
away  his  head,  apparently  satisfied.  I  paced 
up  and  down  the  hall  until  the  doctor  came, 
and  drew  him  into  a  vacant  room  to  tell  him 
the  situation.  He  looked  at  me  incredulously 
153 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

when  I  had  finished  my  excited  narrative, 
reached  for  my  wrist,  and  shook  his  head. 
"You  have  been  working  too  hard  over 
that  fellow,"  he  said;  "you  will  be  the 
next  patient." 

"  But  he  asked  for  his  wife,  and  called  her 
by  name.  Come  and  see  which  is  the  lunatic," 
and  I  led  the  way  to  the  sick-room. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  in  a  cheery  tone,  going  to 
the  bedside,  "I  see  we  are  getting  along 
bravely,  and  look  as  smart  as  folks  that 
have  a  whole  skull." 

The  patient  (I  did  n't  know  what  name  to 
call  him)  smiled,  but  without  a  trace  of 
recognition. 

"I  suppose  you  are  my  physician,  and  I 
am  probably  indebted  to  you  for  my  life,"  he 
said  feebly. 

The  doctor  looked  puzzled.  "You  don't 
seem  to  recall  my  face." 

"No;  I  suppose  I  was  knocked  senseless. 
The  last  thing  I  can  remember  is  going  down 
the  embankment.  I  tried  to  jump,  but  my 
foot  caught  and  I  struck  my  head  against 
something.  There  was  a  young  woman  in 
154 


A  STRANGE  STORY:   THE  LOST  YEARS 

the  opposite  berth;  was  she  killed,  I  wonder? 
She  had  two  little  children.  I  suppose  I 
have  been  unconscious  for  some  time;  it 
must  have  happened  yesterday,  did  n't  it?" 

"  It  was  several  days  ago,"  said  the  doctor, 
soothingly.  "  You  had  better  rest  awhile,  and 
then  youcan  tell  us  more,  and  about  yourself." 

"This  lady  can  tell  you  all  about  me;  she 
has  known  me  all  my  life,"  and  he  closed  his 
eyes  wearily. 

The  doctor  looked  at  me  significantly,  and 
1  followed  him  into  the  hall. 

"What  in  the  world  does  this  mean? 
That  young  man  is  no  more  Charlie  Reyn- 
olds than  I  am.  I  can  only  account  for 
the  case  in  one  way,  and  that  is  a  very 
unusual  one.  The  operation  I  performed 
last  week  restored  his  skull  to  its  normal 
shape.  There  was  quite  ^  deep  indenture, 
and  a  consequent  pressure  upon  the  brain, 
which  undoubtedly  affected,  probably  sus- 
pended, his  memory.  Now,  this  young  man 
—minister,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes,"  I  interrupted;  "but  this  is  the 
awful  part  of  it:  he  is  dead— buried— five 
155 


TALKS  FROM   }[cCLrRE'S 

years  ago.  I  saw  him  buried,  liave  <]:one  to 
his  grave  many  times;  and  now  he  lies  tliere 
and  talks  to  me.  And  Cliarlie  Reynolds— 
drunkard  and  robber— oh,  no!  no!" 

"  You  say  your  friend  was  killed  in  a  rail- 
road accident  on  his  vacation  trip?  How 
was  tlie  body  identifuMl?  Wlio  saw  it  after 
it  was  sent  home?" 

"None  of  his  family  saw  the  remains,  he 
was  so  badly  burned.  1  see;  it  nuist  have 
been  the  wrong  body." 

"  And  the  railroad,  of  cours(\  had  him 
cared  for  until  he  was  well;  and  then  In^ 
could  n't  tell  who  he  was,  and  drifted  about 
unt  il  ho  foil  into  bad  company.  He  has  bei»n 
a  cat's-paw  for  this  gang,  no  doubt.  Well, 
you  've  got  a  ])retty  little  sensation  upon 
your  linnds;  1  M  like  to  see  you  get  back  and 
tell  your  story." 

I  wondered  how  lie  could  talk  and  smile  so 
carelessly;  but  in  that  country  nobody  is  sur- 
prised at  anything.  I  went  back  to  my 
patient,  after  despjitching  a  messenger  for 
Howard,  who  was  working  in  the  "San 
Jacinto,"  twenty  miles  away. 
ir.G 


A    STRANGE  STO/iY:    T/I/'J  LOST   YEARS 

(JheHter,  as  I  could  safely  call  him  now, 
was  extremely  anxious  about  his  fellow- 
passenj^ors,  and  thouj^ht  tlioy  must  be  in 
the  hotel  at  this  time.  1  was  familiar  with 
the  shocking  details  of  the  disaster  at  the 
time,  but  could  not  recall  them  with  sulli- 
cient  accuracy  to  satisfy  him.  The  five  years 
int(!rv(;ning  were  apparently  entirely  lost, 
lie  could  scarcely  believe  us  when  we  told 
him  that  he  had  lain  unconscious  for  more 
than  a  wcsek. 

Howard  came;  in  th(5  ev(;ning,  and  was 
amazed  beyond  his  powctr  of  expn^ssion. 
Il<!  thouj^ht  over  IIk;  complex  Hihi.'ilion  a 
lo(i[^  time;  [)efon;  Ik;  made;  any  elfort  lo  com- 
murncati!  with  th<i  family  of  the  patii^nt. 
Chester  could  not  \ini\('.rM,;u\i\  why  wc  had 
not  tel(!gra[)l)(!d  Ix^fon;,  and  W(;  could  not 
(iX|)lain.  We  calhid  a  (council  of  thre((,  and 
d(!bat(Ml.  (;h(!ster  Mansficdd,  the;  gifl,cd,  ir- 
rtjproachable  minister  of  our  lar^(!  churcfi, 
was  [i(dd  to  b(5  tried  for  robbery  and  assault 
as  soon  as  he  was  ablcj  to  appear.  W<;  could 
not  take  him  away.  What  word  could  we 
send  to  the  youn/^  wife;,  about  whom  he  con- 
ir>7 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

tinually  asked,  and  the  old  mother?  We 
finally  left  it  to  Howard,  who  telegraphed  to 
the  wife  that  her  husband  had  been  found 
alive,  though  recovering  from  serious  illness; 
that  he  was  in  our  care,  but  wished  her  to 
join  him  as  soon  as  possible;  and  that  the 
body  sent  home  as  his  must  have  been  that 
of  another  man. 

When  we  told  Chester  that  she  had  been 
sent  for,  he  exclaimed,  "  How  can  she  leave 
her  baby?  She  would  have  been  with  me 
but  for  that  three-months-old  baby."  The 
baby  was  now  a  tall  boy  of  five  in  kilts.  Al- 
though the  complications  arising  from  this 
strange  case  were  countless,  we  managed  to 
keep  the  real  story  from  Chester  until  he 
was  sufl^iciently  recovered  to  bear  it;  and, 
indeed,  we  did  not  then  tell  him  of  the  seri- 
ous misdeeds  of  his  other  self. 

But  when  the  young  wife  came  after  her 
long  journey,  and  we  led  her  (for  the  first 
time  without  her  mourning-dress)  up  to  his 
room,  he  knew  that  to  her  he  was  in  truth 
one  risen  from  the  dead.  I  opened  the  door 
for  her;  and  when  I  heard  her  cry  of  joy  as 
158 


1 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

she  sprang  forward,  satisfied  at  last  of  his 
identity,  and  his  low  "My  love!  my  love!"  I 
closed  the  door,  and  went  away  to  weep  a 
few  tears  to  myself,  but  not  of  sorrow. 

My  story  is  told.  We  secured  bail  for 
Charles  Reynolds,  and  took  him  home,  to 
await  the  fall  term  of  court,  when  he  ex- 
pects to  have  no  difficulty  in  proving  his  in- 
nocence in  his  present  person.  To  himself 
his  case  presents  some  metaphysical  and 
moral  studies  quite  at  variance  with  his 
own  belief.  He  cannot  yet  comprehend  the 
silence  of  his  conscience  at  this  time  of  need. 
The  sensation  created  by  our  return  and  all 
subsequent  events  are  well  known  to  those 
who  will  read  this  statement,  so  that  I  need 
tell  no  more. 

My  only  object  in  A\Titing  so  minute  an 
account,  and  detailing  such  conversations  as 
I  could  remember,  is  to  protect  him  forever, 
as  far  as  my  word  will  avail,  from  any  insinu- 
ation of  intentional  or  conscious  wrong-doing 
in  those  five  lost  years,  knowing  as  I  do  the 
conditions  of  life  exacted  of  a  clergyman, 
and  fearing  some  future  recrimination. 
160 


i 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

BY 

James  F.  McKay 


TWO   MODERN   PRODIGALS 

TOM  STANDISH  and  Chauncey  Smith 
were  chums  at  school.  Tom  went  into 
the  army  and  Chauncey  into  the  church,  and 
they  drifted  apart.  Chauncey  made  a  bril- 
liant start  in  his  first  parish,  but  he  resigned 
suddenly,  and  wandered  about,  then  went  out 
as  missionary  to  the  Oregons.  Few  knew 
that  the  cause  of  his  going  off  the  track  was 
a  certain  Emily  Varick. 

Miss  Varick  was  a  young  person  of  ideas, 
and  when  Chauncey  expressed  his  great  re- 
gard for  her,  she  repulsed  him  with  some 
scornful  remarks  about  carpet-knights,  and 
the  need  there  was  for  men  and  women  to 
do  noble  deeds  before  saying  fine  words. 
163 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Out  West  he  met  Frank  Standish,  but  could 
get  nothing  from  him  about  Tom.  He  did  not 
succeed  there,  nor  get  on  well  with  the  other 
missionaries.  Finally  he  gave  it  up  at  short 
notice,  and  went  straight  back  home  to  the 
old  farm  among  the  Eastern  hills.  He  left 
his  baggage  at  the  station,  and  walked  home 
across  lots,  touched  by  every  familiar  stone 
and  tree.  It  was  haying-time,  and  he  saw 
his  father  at  the  other  end  of  a  mown  field. 
He  took  a  stray  fork  and  began  heaping  up 
the  windrows,  finding  it  pleasant  that  he 
could  beat  the  man  on  the  next  row.  The 
old  man  presently  came  down  to  see  who  it 
was,  and  Chauncey  kept  his  head  down  and 
made  the  hay  fly  till  his  father  stood  close 
beside  him.  Then  he  dropped  the  fork,  and 
threw  his  arms  across  the  bent  shoulders, 
laughing,  with  a  sudden  dimness  in  his  eyes. 

"  This  is  honest  work,"  he  said.  "  I  guess 
this  is  what  I  was  made  for." 

The  old  folks  were  glad  and  sorry,  but  saw 

he  was  not  to  be  questioned.     He  worked 

away  and  made  it  pleasant  for  them  all  that 

summer  and  fall;  but  he  did  not  find  it  sat- 

164 


1 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

isfying.  In  the  middle  of  November  he  got 
a  letter  from  Frank  Standish,  which  he 
showed  to  his  mother,  and  he  told  her  the 
story  in  a  few  words. 

"I  have  just  heard  you  are  out  of  the 
woods,"  the  captain  wrote.  "I  know  just 
the  spot  for  you.  Maberly  is  going  to  take 
a  professorship,  and  they  want  a  parson  up 
at  Standish.  They  pay  pretty  well,  and 
you  're  just  the  man.  There  's  work  enough 
to  satisfy  you,  and  the  kind  of  work  you 
ought  to  be  at.  I  've  spoken  about  you,  and 
they  want  to  see  you.  Come  up  and  preach 
for  them  at  Thanksgiving.  We  '11  all  be  at 
home  this  year,  and  will  make  it  pleasant 
for  you.  Did  you  know  I  had  been  getting 
engaged?  She  '11  be  there.  Come  and  see 
her.     We  '11  depend  on  you." 

The  old  folks  talked  it  over  that  night,  and 
they  urged  him  to  go,  though  they  would 
miss  him  sadly.  So  he  set  to  work  on  a 
Thanksgiving  sermon.  He  threw  it  away 
several  times  and  went  to  work  out  of  doors 
again.  But  he  saw  it  vexed  the  old  people; 
they  had  expected  great  things  of  him. 
165 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Everybody  had,  in  fact.  He  had  been  a 
brilliant  fellow  at  college— class  poet  and  a 
forcible  speaker.  In  the  end  he  finished  his 
sermon  and  started  for  Standish,  intending 
to  stop  over  one  train  in  the  city  on  some 
business  of  his  father's. 

On  the  train  he  remembered  that  Dan 
Field  lived  at  Preston,  on  this  road,  and  he 
looked  out  for  him.  Sure  enough,  he  saw 
him  getting  on  the  train.  They  sat  together 
the  rest  of  the  way,  and  Chauncey  found  his 
friend's  strong,  laughing  talk  very  pleasant 
to  hear  again.  He  told  him  where  he  was 
going,  and  they  talked  over  the  Standishes, 
Nelly's  marriage  to  Colonel  Haven,  Parry's 
narrow  escape  from  the  Arctic,  and  the  rest. 
Chauncey  asked  Field  if  he  knew  anything 
about  Tom,  and  why  Frank  would  not  speak 
of  him.     Then  Field  stopped  laughing. 

"No;  they  don't  talk  about  Tom.  Tom 
went  to  the  bad.  He  got  to  be  a  lieutenant, 
and  was  out  in  New  Mexico,  acting  captain 
and  commissary  of  the  post.  He  got  into 
some  scrape,— there  was  a  shortage  in  his 
accounts,  or  something,— and  he  was  court- 
166 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

martialed,  and  dismissed  from  the  army  in 
disgrace.  Scott  Jervis  ran  across  him,  in 
New  Orleans,  in  a  shirt  and  trousers  and 
close  down  to  the  husks.  Scott  bought  him 
a  ticket  and  sent  him  home,  and  when  he 
got  to  Standish  they  turned  him  out;  he  had 
dishonored  them,  and  they  shut  the  door  in 
his  face." 

Chauncey  made  little  reply  to  this,  except 
by  the  expression  on  his  face.  Tom  Stand- 
ish had  been  the  gentlest,  nicest  boy  he 
knew,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  make 
this  story  fit.  Finally  he  asked  Field  if  he 
knew  where  Tom  was. 

"Yes;  I  think  he  's  about  town.  I  used 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  him,  but  he  keeps  on  the 
shady  side,  and  I  have  n't  seen  him  in  a  long 
time.  I  hear  about  him  occasionally,  though, 
through  a  client  of  mine  who  keeps  a  place 
on  the  East  Side." 

They  talked  about  some  other  things;  but 
Chauncey  was  absent  and  forgetful,  and 
after  a  while  asked  Field  for  his  client's 
address.  Field  wrote  a  few  words  on  a 
card  and  gave  it  to  him.  Just  as  they  were 
167 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

shaking  hands  in  the  hubbub  of  the  streets, 
Field  said,  "  Remember  me  to  Frank  Stand- 
ish.  I  suppose  he  told  you  he  is  going  to 
marry  Emily  Varick." 

A  wave  of  the  hand,  and  then  he  was  gone. 
Chauncey  drifted  on  with  the  human  tide. 
When  he  remembered  his  father's  business 
it  was  too  late  fpr  that  day.  He  found  he 
was  tired  out,  and  took  a  room  at  a  cheap 
hotel  near  by.  He  threw  himself  on  the  bed, 
and  lay  there  several  hours  without  moving. 

Finally  he  got  up  and  went  out  into  the 
streets  again.  It  was  night  now,  and  he 
wandered  into  a  riotous  quarter,  finding  it 
congenial  with  his  humor.  He  saw  on  a 
lamp  the  name  of  the  street  Field  had  writ- 
ten for  him,  looked  up  the  number,  and  went 
in.  He  gave  Field's  card  to  the  proprietor 
of  the  place,  and  the  man  looked  at  it  and 
him,  then  said: 

"I  expect  the  man  you  want  will  be  in 
here  before  long.  I  '11  give  you  a  hint  when 
he  comes." 

A  faintness  had  crept  upon  Chauncey;  he 
forgot  that  he  had  not  eaten  anything  since 
168 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

early  morning.  He  sat  down  aside,  where 
he  could  watch  the  door.  Presently  a  man 
came  in,  and  stood  speaking  to  some  one 
near  the  entrance.  Chauncey  sat  looking 
at  him  in  a  kind  of  a  dream,  in  which  the 
brilliant  lights,  the  swinging  doors,  the 
coming  and  going,  the  loud  talk  of  flashy, 
sharp-faced  men,  swam  in  a  shifting  scene. 
Something  made  him  turn,  and  the  keeper 
of  the  place  caught  his  eye  and  motioned 
with  his  thumb  toward  the  door.  He  got  up 
and  met  the  new-comer  half-way.  He  was 
shabby  and  unkempt  enough;  but  Chauncey 
was  glad  he  was  not  like  most  of  the  people 
in  the  place,  who  were  not  shabby,  at  least. 
He  had  to  stare  sharply  to  find  the  Standish 
look  in  the  dull  face,  though,  to  tell  the 
truth,  Tom  had  always  been  a  trifle  dull. 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  suppose  you  don't  remember 
me,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  without  brightening, 
"I  know  you;  you  're  Chauncey  Smith." 

Chauncey  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what 
he  was  going  to  do  with  him,  but  he  said 
decidedly: 

169 


HE   HAD   TO   STARE   SHARPLY  TO   FIND   THE 
STANDISH  LOOK  IN  THE  DULL  FACE." 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

"  Tom,  come  along  with  me;  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

Tom  looked  dogged  as  well  as  dull. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  with  you.  If  you 
want  to  talk,  we  can  do  it  here." 

"  All  I  've  got  to  say,"  Chauncey  replied, 
"  is  that  I  think  you  've  had  enough  of  this, 
and  I  want  you  to  come  out  of  it." 

Tom  simply  refused,  and  Chauncey  re- 
sponded: 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  come  with  me,  I  '11  go 
with  you;  I  don't  care  much  which." 

There  was  a  certain  hardness  and  reck- 
lessness in  Chauncey's  manner  that  worked 
through  to  Tom's  dull  perception  and  affected 
him  more  than  any  appeal  would  have  done ; 
and  finding  that  he  could  not  shake  Chauncey 
off,  he  finally  asked  what  he  wanted  of  him, 
and  let  him  take  him  away.  Chauncey  did 
not  talk,  but  took  him  under  his  arm  and 
walked  him  along  with  an  impatient,  almost 
fierce  imperiousness  that  wielded  the  sway 
of  natural  right  over  Tom's  milder  spirit. 
He  went  into  a  clothing  store,  penciled  on  a 
scrap  of  wrapping-paper  for  the  man  to  take 
171 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Tom's  measure  in  his  eye,  and  pointed  out 
what  he  wanted.  His  pocket-book  was  not 
very  stout  when  he  went  in,  and  was  lean 
when  he  came  out;  but  he  did  n't  care.  He 
fetched  the  bundle  away  under  one  arm  and 
Tom  under  the  other.  He  went  into  some 
baths  behind  a  barber  shop,  saying: 

"Tom,  I  Ve  been  traveling  all  day,  and 
feel  principally  composed  of  cinders  and 
engine-smoke.     Let 's  have  a  wash-up." 

He  turned  on  the  water  for  Tom,  threw 
down  the  bundle,  and  told  him  to  put  on  the 
things,  shut  him  in,  and  went  into  the  next 
place  himself.  He  was  waiting  when  Tom 
came  out,  and  he  told  the  barbers  to  do  their 
worst  by  them  both.  Then  he  saw  in  a  glass 
that  Tom  looked  something  like  a  Standish 
again.  He  brought  him  away,  and  took  him 
up  to  his  room,  stopping  at  the  office  to  write 
"  T.  J.  Standish  "  on  the  register.  Then  he 
sat  down  opposite  to  Tom,  and  forgot  all 
about  him  for  a  good  while,  though  he 
seemed  to  be  staring  at  him  all  the  time. 

By  and  by  this  roused  a  certain  resent- 
ment in  Tom,  and  he  spoke  up  angrily: 
172 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

"  Now  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by 
all  this." 

Chauncey  straightened  up,  and  woke  him- 
self slowly  to  a  remembrance  of  the  situa- 
tion. Then  he  said,  with  a  deliberateness 
that  showed  the  fiery  temper  behiAd  it: 

"  Say  that  over  again  slow." 

It  was  the  perception  of  this  something 
unnatural,  something  almost  furious,  behind 
Chauncey's  words  and  manner,  that  made 
Tom  passive  in  his  hands.  There  had  never 
been  anything  coarse  about  the  Chauncey 
Smith  that  Tom  had  known,  and  now  his 
whole  manner  and  speech  were  rough.  His 
talk  had  suddenly  caught  the  flavor  of  the 
street,  of  the  untamed,  riotous  world.  He 
had  chaffed  and  laughed  harshly  with  the 
bath-keeper  and  the  hotel  clerk.  Tom  was 
shaken  and  stung  by  his  scornful  expres- 
sion. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  asked,  "  that  a  little 
soap  and  water  can  clean  up  a  man  who  has 
been  down,  in  the  mud  for  years?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Chauncey  retorted.  "  I  '11 
tell  you  what  I  suppose:  I  suppose  any  man 
173 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

is  liable  to  slip  and  get  down  under  foot,  and 
even  roll  into  the  gutter;  but  I  did  n't  sup- 
pose, until  now,  that  a  man  who  had  been 
brought  up  on  soap  and  water  would  like 
mud  well  enough  to  be  still  and  wallow  in  it 
until  somebody  came  and  pulled  him  out  by 
the  neck.  I  supposed  that  any  one  out  of 
his  teens  must  know  that  every  man  has  his 
own  way  to  make  in  this  world,  without 
much  help  from  anybody  else,  and  that  any 
man  who  lies  down  in  the  street  and  whines 
for  somebody  to  pick  him  up  and  push  him 
along  the  straight  road  is  a  miserable  fraud 
and  failure." 

He  said  more  of  the  same  sort— said  it 
harshly  and  hotly,  and  with  the  emphasis  of 
strong  language.  His  words  were  harder 
than  those  Tom  had  met  when  he  went 
home,  but  there  was  an  underlying  differ- 
ence that  Tom  felt  rather  than  saw.  The 
few  words  he  had  met  at  home  sent  him 
away  hard  and  desperate;  Chauncey's  un- 
bridled reproaches  broke  him  to  pieces, 
doubled  him  up,  and  set  him  sobbing  like  a 
whipped  child. 

174 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

Chauncey  kept  still  then,  and  did  not  in- 
terfere. But  when  Tom  looked  up  at  length, 
he  saw  Chauncey  bent  forward,  looking  at 
him,  with  his  face  between  his  hands;  and 
from  the  face  between  his  hands  looked  out 
a  haggard  misery. 

"I  am  a  failure,"  Tom  complained.  "I 
ought  to  know.  And  I  'm  a  fraud,  too.  I 
suppose  you  Ve  heard  of  it,  like  everybody 
else.  I  lost  the  money  playing  cards;  there 
was  n't  anything  else  to  do  in  that  cursed 
hole.  But  they  need  n't  have  been  so  hard 
on  me  when  I  went  home.  It  was  Frank  and 
Nelly  that  w^ere  the  worst.  Nelly  said  she  'd 
rather  have  heard  that  I  was  dead,  and  Frank 
put  me  out.  The  old  man  was  awfully  cut 
up,  but  I  think  I  could  have  made  it  up  with 
him  if  I  had  seen  him  alone.  And  I  know 
Kate  was  sorry;  but  she  was  n't  home.  I  've 
got  the  letter  here  that  she  wrote  me;  I  've 
read  it  a  hundred  times,  but  I  never  an- 
sw^ered  it.  Frank  is  no  saint  himself,  as  I 
know.  He  said  I  had  disgraced  them  and 
they  disowned  me  forever.  I  said  I  would 
disgrace  them  then,  and  I  guess  I  have. 
175 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

But  I  might  have  done  worse  yet  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  Kate." 

Chauncey  still  looked  at  him  from  between 
his  hands. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Tom,"  he  said; "  I  was  n't 
preaching  at  you  so  much  as  at  myself.  It 's 
I  that  am  the  failure.  I  got  turned  out,  too, 
and  I  have  n't  stood  up  against  it  any  better 
than  you.  I  've  been  racing  and  raving 
about  the  country  for  a  couple  of  years,  and 
have  n't  done  a  decent  thing.  And  I  'm  the 
worst  kind  of  a  fraud.  I  'm  on  my  way  now 
to  preach  at  Thanksgiving  and  tell  the 
people  all  the  things  we  've  got  to  be 
thankful  for,  and  there  is  n't  a  thing  in  the 
world  that  I  'm  thankful  for  myself.  See 
here,  Tom;  I  've  got  it  in  my  pocket,  all 
written  out.  Oh,  it  's  beautiful!  It  shows 
you  what  great  gains  we  've  made,  what 
blood  and  tears  our  liberty  has  cost,  what 
noble  characters  and  families  generations  of 
brave  living  have  bred  (like  the  Standishes, 
for  example),  and  all  the  rest.  And  I  don't 
care  to-night  if  chaos  comes  again;  I  know 
the  world  is  full  of  griefs  too  bitter  for  tears 
176 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

and  wounds  too  deep  to  bleed.  We  're  down 
in  the  ditch  together,  and  it  won't  do  any- 
good  for  us  to  call  names." 

And  so  these  two  confessed  poor  sinners 
humbled  and  bemoaned  themselves  far  into 
the  night,  and  crept  sick-hearted  into  bed 
as  the  dawn  began  to  come  in  from  the  sea. 
The  city  was  all  bustle  and  sunshine  when 
they  rose  from  their  unrefreshing  sleep. 
They  went  down  and  ate  breakfast  together, 
then  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  town. 
It  brought  back  the  memory  of  a  holiday 
they  had  spent  there  as  joyous  boys,  and 
they  took  the  freak  of  going  about  to  some 
of  the  same  sights  and  shows,  laughing  as 
loudly  as  then,  but  ^vith  a  different  humor, 
as  may  be  supposed. 

So  the  day  passed,  and  Chauncey  showed 
no  sign  of  proceeding  on  his  journey.  He 
had  not  named  his  destination,  but  had  in- 
timated that  he  was  due  farther  north,  the 
night  previous:  and  now  it  was  the  day  be- 
fore Thanksgiving.  He  had  not  gone  into 
any  particulars,  but  it  had  been  borne  in 
upon  Tom  that  here  was  a  keener  spirit 
177 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

than  his  own,  quite  as  likely  as  not  to  go  to 
pieces  in  the  strait  it  was  in.  Chauncey 
left  the  lead  to  him  all  day,  and  in  the  even- 
ing Tom  told  Chauncey  it  was  time  to  go  and 
get  his  things  to  take  the  night  train. 

So  Chauncey  went  along  with  him,  paid  his 
bill,  and  they  went  up  together  to  the  north- 
ern train.  Chauncey  went  to  the  ticket- 
office,  and  when  he  came  back  Tom  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  I  w^on't  forget  this,"  he  said,  his  voice 
turning  thick  as  he  spoke.  "You  're  the 
first  one  that  has  n't  despised  me;  you  've 
done  me  a  good  turn.  I  'm  going  to  do 
better." 

Chauncey  did  not  take  his  hand. 

"  I  've  got  your  ticket,"  he  said.  "  I  won't 
go  unless  you  do." 

Tom  said  there  was  no  reason  for  his 
going;  and  Chauncey  replied,  then  they 
would  n't  go.  He  did  not  know  what  he 
was  going  to  do  with  Tom  or  with  himself. 
Quite  probably  he  perceived  vaguely  that 
throwing  the  lead  on  Tom  had  a  good  effect, 
and  he  persisted  in  it,  half  recklessly,  half 
178 


I 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

purposely.  That  was  characteristic  of  his 
doubting  and  subtilizing  intellect.  Tom 
argued,  hesitated,  then  went  with  him  as 
the  gates  were  about  to  close.  They  arrived 
between  three  and  four  in  the  morning,  and 
went  to  the  nearest  hotel.  Chauncey  had 
kept  the  tickets,  and  Tom  took  no  notice  and 
did  not  know  where  they  were. 

On  the  previous  morning  Chauncey  Smith 
had  naturally  been  the  subject  of  talk  at 
the  breakfast-table  in  the  Standish  mansion. 
He  had  been  expected  the  preceding  night. 
Emily  Varick  was  there.  She  had  been  a 
school  friend  of  Kate's,  and  in  that  way  be- 
came acquainted  with  Kate's  brother,  Cap- 
tain Frank,  whom  she  admired  as  one  of 
the  doers  of  heroic  things  and  a  handsome, 
courtly  fellow  personally.  Frank  was  led  to 
speak  of  his  acquaintance  with  Chauncey  in 
the  far  West,  and  the  rather  singular  kind 
of  missionary  he  made. 

"I  used  to  think  he  was  cut  out  for  a 

soldier  or  trapper.     He  was  a  great  rider 

and  a  splendid  shot,  and  I  don't  think  that 

he  has  any  such  thing  as  fear  in  his  compo- 

179 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

sition.  I  used  to  wonder  at  him.  We  never 
thought  of  him  in  that  way  in  the  old  times. 
He  used  to  be  quite  natty,  and  his  strong 
point  was  his  head.  There  was  n't  any  white 
man  out  there  the  Indians  were  as  much 
afraid  of  as  Parson  Smith.  I  saw  him  knock 
down  one  of  the  biggest  braves,  one  day,  with 
his  naked  hand;  and  when  the  Shanahan  fam- 
ily were  cut  off  by  the  hostiles,  nobody  else 
would  go,  because  it  seemed  sure  death,  and 
it  would  have  been  sure  death  to  any  one 
else.  Smith  lodged  the  women  in  a  sort  of 
chamber,  which  he  beat  down  in  the  middle 
of  a  thicket,  where  there  was  only  a  path  for 
one  to  come  in  at  a  time;  and  he  lay  and 
guarded  that  path  with  a  repeating  rifle,  and 
dropped  every  redskin  that  showed  himself, 
till  he  beat  them  off  and  gained  time  for  the 
troops  to  come  up.  Yet  he  did  n't  seem  to 
take  much  pleasure  in  anything;  he  was  wasp- 
ish in  his  temper,  and  a  kind  of  rough  in 
his  talk  and  dress.  I  used  to  think  some- 
thing had  happened  to  him,  but  most  likely 
he  was  only  out  of  place." 

They  did  not  know  that  Emily  Varick  knew 
180 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

Chauncey  Smith,  and  she  said  nothing;  but 
there  was  no  more  interested  hearer  of  this 
account  of  him,  as  may  be  supposed. 

Chauncey  and  Tom  came  out  of  the  hotel 
as  the  bell  of  the  old  church  was  ringing  on 
Thanksgiving  morning.  Tom  then  first  dis- 
covered that  he  was  in  the  familiar  old  place, 
and  it  staggered  him  a  good  deal.  They 
strolled  along,  looking  about  them  silently, 
and  came  to  the  church  door.  Then  Tom 
said: 

"  I  won't  go  in  now,  but  I  '11  wait  for  you. 
Maybe  I  '11  come  in  by  and  by." 

Chauncey  hesitated,  then  went  up  the  aisle 
and  the  pulpit  stairs.  The  sexton  came  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  Mr.  Smith,  saying  they 
had  given  him  up  and  an  old  resident  min- 
ister was  expected  to  preach.  Chauncey 
told  him  to  send  the  old  gentleman  up,  and 
he  presently  came,  shook  hands,  and  asked 
if  he  should  conduct  the  opening  services, 
and  Chauncey  said  he  should  like  it.  Then 
he  saw  the  people  gathering  as  in  a  dream. 
He  saw  the  Standishes  come  down  the  aisle, 
each  glancing  up  at  him,  and  among  them 
181 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

one  who  took  his  thoughts  away  from  all 
the  rest.  The  dream  drifted  on.  Through 
it  presently  organ  music  rose  and  rolled;  an 
anthem  of  many  voices  filled  the  house;  the 
tones  of  prayer  and  Scripture  followed  from 
the  old  grayhead  beside  him.  And  then  he 
became  aware  that  the  people  were  waiting 
for  him  to  speak. 

The  sermon  he  had  prepared  was  in  his 
pocket,  and  he  took  it  out  mechanically,  but 
did  not  open  it;  all  that  fact  and  logic  was 
simply  impossible.  The  phrase  came  into 
his  mind,  ''It  shall  be  given  you  in  that 
same  hour  what  ye  shall  speak";  and  he  be- 
gan in  a  low  voice,  that  never  became  loud, 
but  grew  more  and  more  distinct  as  it  took 
hold  of  the  people  and  hushed  them  by  its 
suppressed  passion  and  conviction. 

He  alluded  to  the  obvious  causes  for 
thankfulness,  the  undeniable  gains  of  pro- 
gress, our  precious  freedom,  and  the  great 
debt  to  the  dead  who  wrought  it  out  for  us, 
and  the  honor  and  emulation  we  rightly  show 
to  those  who  personally  represent  their  noble 
traditions  of  character  and  courage.  He  said 
182 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

that  those  who  could  uphold  the  heritage  of 
honored  names  prospered  only  by  the  tenure 
of  continued  noble  living,  and  not  by  any 
show  of  pride  or  state.  He  said  that,  after 
all,  the  individual  life  was  the  one  essential 
thing,  to  which  all  the  rest  was  but  acces- 
sory; that  in  Job's  day,  as  in  ours,  a  man's 
life  was  a  march  from  mystery  to  mystery, 
that  still  the  earth  is  full  of  sorrow  and  sin, 
that  the  strength  of  the  strongest  is  a  break- 
ing staff,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  wisest  but 
to  see  the  vastness  of  the  unknown.  He  said 
that  all  inventions  and  institutions  came  to 
nothing  if  they  did  not  result  in  making  men 
the  more  to  do  justice  and  love  mercy  and 
truth;  and  that  perhaps  justice  between  man 
and  man,  when  all  was  considered,  was  not 
far  removed  from  the  charity  that  is  not 
puffed  up,  but  suft'ers  long,  and  forgives  as 
it  hopes  to  be  forgiven ;  that  the  mother  who 
watches,  heart-sick,  night  after  night,  and 
hopes  against  hope,  for  the  return  of  the 
prodigal  to  his  right  mind,  reproaching  him 
only  by  her  wan  face  and  tireless  solicitude, 
does  as  much  as  another  to  bring  him  to  feel 
183 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

the  bitterness  of  feeding  with  the  swine  and 
to  save  his  soul  and  her  own.  And  he 
closed  with  the  quotation:  "I  say  unto 
you,  that  joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety 
and  nine  just  persons,  which  need  no  re- 
pentance." 

The  service  drew  to  an  end,  and  the  con- 
gregation dispersed.  The  Standishes  waited 
while  the  old  minister  spoke  with  Chauncey; 
and  when  they  came  down  from  the  pulpit 
together  Captain  Frank  went  forward  to 
meet  them.  Kate  Standish  stood  by  her 
father  in  the  aisle,  tall  and  strikingly  like 
the  gray-haired  admiral  with  his  straight 
and  gracious  dignity;  and  now  there  was  a 
certain  wistful  regret  in  both  their  faces, 
and  neither  of  them  spoke.  The  place  grew 
empty  while  they  waited  for  Frank  to  come 
with  Chauncey;  and  Frank's  sister,  Mrs. 
Haven,  chatted  with  Miss  Varick  in  an 
undertone.  Kate's  attention  was  attracted 
to  a  young  man  near  the  east  door,  partly 
hidden  by  a  pillar  against  which  he  leaned 
with  his  back  toward  them.  Presently  she 
184 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

moved  slowly  down  the  aisle,  keeping  her 
eyes  upon  the  stranger.  She  came  quite 
near  him  by  degrees,  then  stood  still,  re- 
garding him  until  he  turned  his  face  as  if 
by  a  painful  effort,  without  looking  up.  She 
went  forward,  came  full  in  front  of  him,  and 
then  he  raised  his  eyes  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  Oh,  Tom  ! "  she  cried,  and  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck. 

Chauncey  had  slipped  out  at  the  rear 
door,  and  Frank  joined  the  family  and  came 
down  the  aisle  with  them.  Astonished  at 
Kate,  they  came  near,  and  found  her  sobbing 
on  Tom's  neck.  Frank  took  hold  of  her  arm 
and  spoke  sternly,  commanding  her  to  come 
away;  but  Tom  straightened  up  then,  put 
his  arm  about  her,  and  faced  the  tall  cap- 
tain. 

"  Stand  off,"  he  said.  "  She  is  my  sister 
as  much  as  yours." 

Frank  had  assumed  a  good  deal  of  power 
in  the  family  of  late  years,  and  his  father 
had  given  way  to  him.  But  days  like  this 
always  brought  the  old  admiral  bitter  long- 
ings for  his  lost  boy,  which  the  words  he  had 
185 


TALES  FROM  McCLVRE'S 

just  heard  had  not  made  less,  and  he  inter- 
posed now  with  a  tremulous  authority  not 
to  be  gainsaid. 

"Let  her  alone;  it  is  her  brother.  He  is 
my  son,  and  if  he  has  come  back  penitent  he 
shall  not  be  turned  away." 

And  Tom  was  penitent  enough,  and  went 
home  to  his  father's  house,  where  all  but 
Frank  and  Mrs.  Haven  received  him  with 
varying  degrees  of  cordiality.  Frank  did 
not  come  to  dinner  at  all,  but  had  an  inter- 
view with  his  father  alone  afterward,  and 
then  went  and  talked  with  Miss  Varick.  He 
told  her  how  much  he  regretted  this  unfor- 
tunate aifair,  on  her  account;  said  that  his 
father  had  been  wrought  upon  by  the  im- 
pertinent personalities  of  that  fellow  Smith 
and  refused  to  hear  reason;  that  it  was,  of 
course,  very  painful  to  him,  but  it  was  his 
duty  as  the  future  head  of  the  family  to  pro- 
test in  its  honor  by  leaving  the  house.  He 
was  sorry  to  cut  short  her  visit;  but  as  his 
future  wife,  she  would,  of  course,  wish  to 
leave  with  him,  and  he  would  accomipany  her 
to  the  city  in  the  morning.  To  his  surprise, 
186 


TWO  MODERX  PRODIGALS 

Miss  Varick  dissented  from  these  views  and 
arrangements. 

The  captain,  who  was  very  angry,  under  a 
show  of  courtly  bearing  gave  her  the  night 
to  consider,  and  said  he  would  take  her  an- 
swer in  the  morning  as  an  intimation  that 
she  did,  or  did  not,  wish  to  continue  their 
present  relation. 

Emily  Varick  did  not  sleep  much  that 
night.  Early  in  the  morning  Captain  Frank 
sent  her  a  ceremonious  note,  asking  if  she 
desired  his  escort  into  town;  and  she  re- 
turned a  more  simple  reply  to  the  effect 
that  she  was  very  sorry,  but  could  not  go 
with  him  that  day.  He  read  it,  and  turned 
away,  and  ordered  himself  to  be  driven  to 
the  train  alone. 

Emily  went  into  Kate's  room  and  talked  it 
over  with  her,  both  being  much  concerned, 
and  some  tears  were  shed  on  both  sides. 
Kate  told  her  friend  more  fully  about  Tom, 
and  enlarged  upon  Chauncey's  generous  ser- 
vice, of  which  Tom  had  been  talking  to  her. 
He  had  found  him  at  the  hotel  again,  and 
urged  him  to  remain,  and  this  morning  had 
187 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

gone  down  to  him  with  an  invitation  from  the 
admiral.  Tom  came  back  alone,  found  Kate 
with  Miss  Varick,  and  told  her  that  Chauncey 
sent  his  regrets,  but  said  there  were  reasons 
personal  to  himself  that  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  come.  Tom  said  he  was  going  up 
to  his  father,  and  then  would  return  to  the 
hotel.  Miss  Varick  turned  to  him  then  and 
said: 

"  When  you  go  back  to  the  hotel,  tell  him 
that  I  Vvish  him  to  come." 

Tom  looked  his  surprise,  but  bowed,  and 
went  on  up-stairs.     Kate  looked  at  Emily. 

''Do  you  know  Chauncey  Smith?" 

And  Eniily  answered,  *'  Yes." 

Kate  made  no  further  inquiry,  except  by 
a  long,  grave  look  in  her  face;  but  wlien  Tom 
came  up  and  told  her  Chauncey  was  below, 
she  took  Emily  with  her  and  went  down. 
She  walked  straight  across  to  Chauncey, 
gave  him  her  hand,  and  said  warmly: 

"I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you,  and 
very  grateful.  I  will  go  and  tell  my  father. 
Here  is  some  one  you  know." 

She  went  out  and  shut  the  door.  Chaun- 
188 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS ' 

cey  did  not  move  or  speak  until  Emily  came 
across  and  said,  with  embarrassment: 

"I  am  glad  you  came.  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you  that  I  think  you  have  acted  a  very 
generous  and  unselfish  part  in  this  affair, 
knowing  as  you  must  that  you  ran  the  risk 
of  forfeiting  an  excellent  position  by  doing 
and  saying  what  you  did.  You  must  be  glad 
now.  And  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  have  heard 
of  your  noble  bravery  and  devotion  in  the 
West,  and  that— and  that  I—" 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her.  After  a 
pause,  he  said  in  a  low  tone: 

''  There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  all  that." 
She  sat  down  then,  and  both  were  silent. 
After  a  while  he  asked: 

'*  Would  you  mind  if  I  tell  you  the  truth?  " 
And  she  answered,  "  Yes,  tell  me." 
"  I  went  to  the  West  on  your  account.     I 
was  restless  at  home,  and  I  was  restless  and 
reckless  out  there.     I  earned  the  dislike  of 
the  missionaries,  and  was  impatient  and  over- 
bearing with  the  Indians.     I  did  n't  care  for 
my  life,  and  they  thought  me  brave.    I  did  n't 
care  for  anything  but  you.     I  did  no  good 
189 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Out  there,  and  have  been  working  as  a  farm- 
laborer  this  year,  wasting  the  talents  and 
education  that  w^ere  given  me.  On  my  way 
here  I  heard  about  Tom,  and  that  you  were 
going  to  marry  Frank  Standish.  I  was  sorry 
about  Tom,  of  course,  but  should  not  have 
done  him  any  good  if  I  had  not  been  desper- 
ate myself.  I  could  not  have  come  here  and 
preached  as  I  intended,  knowing  about  you. 
Tom  did  as  much  to  bring  me  as  I  to  bring 
him.  In  truth,  I  suppose  it  was  my  hunger 
to  see  you  that  brought  us  both." 

''  You  should  not  talk  so.  If  we  analyzed 
motives  in  that  way,  all  honor  w^ould  disap- 
pear." 

She  turned  away  and  stood  by  the  win- 
dow a  little  while,  then  came  back  part 
way. 

"  I  think  I  said  some  foolish  things  to  you, 
which,  I  am  afraid,  did  you  harm.  I  am  very 
sorry,  and  want  to  do  anything  I  can  to  re- 
pair the  wrong.  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
something  about  myself,  on  the  condition 
that  you  do  not  take  me  to  mean  anything 
more  than  exactly  what  I  say,  and  that  you 
190 


TWO  MODERN  PRODIGALS 

say  nothing  in  reply,  but  go  away  and  get 
back  to  honest  work  at  your  vocation,  and 
do  not  come  to  see  me  for  a  year.  I  am  not 
going  to  marry  Captain  Standish." 

Chauncey  stood  still,  incapable  for  a  time 
of  taking  in  the  meaning  of  those  dozen 
syllables  that  changed  the  aspect  and  atti- 
tude of  all  the  universe. 

*'I  am  sorry  you  are  troubled,"  he  said. 
**Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

"  You  forget  the  condition,"  she  returned. 

"  I  did  not  agree  to  the  condition.  I  have 
been  selfish  and  blind,  and  I  want  you  to  say 
you  forgive  me.  It  was  because  I  cared  so 
much  for  you  that  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing—I could  not  care  for  anything  else  in 
the  world  besides  you.  Don't  you  think  you 
could  forgive  me  for  that?" 

He  was  sufficiently  serious,  yet  there  was 
a  suggestion  of  humor  in  his  words  that 
marked  the  returning  sanity  of  his  mind, 
and  made  Emily  laugh  through  quick-spring- 
ing tears,  stirred  by  the  same  obscure  touch 
in  the  kindred  fountains  of  sorrow  and  mirth. 
Then  she  got  up  quickly  and  went  toward  the 
191 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

door;  but  Chauncey  followed  and  detained 
her. 

"Emily,"  he  pleaded,  "a  year  is  such  a 
long  time.  If  I  get  well  to  work  before 
that,  may  I  come  and  tell  you?  Say  in  six 
months?" 

"Well,"  she  answered,  "I  suppose  you 
will  have  it  your  own  way." 

He  took  her  hand  from  the  knob  and  held 
it  a  moment  tight  in  his  own,  looking  at  her 
earnestly.  Then  he  opened  the  door  for  her, 
stood  aside,  and  let  her  go  away. 

Tom  went  with  him  to  the  train  at  his  de- 
parture, and  they  shook  hands  warmly,  yet 
soberly,  at  parting.  Tom  thanked  him  again, 
and  expressed  his  determination  to  redeem 
the  past.     And  Chauncey  said: 

"  I  owe  you  at  least  as  much  as  you  owe 
me.  We  've  climbed  out  of  the  ditch  to- 
gether, Tom.  We  have  n't  either  of  us  got 
to  the  top  of  the  hill  or  in  sight  of  it  yet; 
but  the  straight  road  lies  before  us,  and  we 
both  know  the  taste  of  ditch-water  well 
enough  not  to  want  to  roll  in  again  if  we 
can  help  it." 

192 


al  library  facility 


B     000  002  110 


